Clandestine Designs
by WolfWarrioress
Summary: SBI agent Joelle never wanted a partner, much less one as rude, arrogant, and downright mean as CT-4629, but she's racing against time to save a Senator's life and doesn't have a choice. Turns out he's on a deadline too. When two people hate each other, can they ever work well together? And what could a clone possibly be searching for? OCxOC, OCxClone
1. Chapter 1

_AN: So when I was supposed to be updating_ Into the Dark, _I went and wrote this instead. Truth is, a bunch of stories that I started that were supposed to be short have turned into monsters somehow, and I needed something little to clear my head. I'm going to do my best to keep it short and sweet._

 _Disclaimer: Everything you recognize doesn't belong to me._

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 **Chapter 1**

 _Space, somewhere near Castell, aboard the_ Tracker, _4 months after the start of the Clone War, 22 BBY_

"Oh blast! _Droyk!_ Blast it, blast it, _blast it!_ " Joelle Karlsen muttered angrily, leaping away from her private terminal in her quarters as the ship's fire alarm kicked in. She scrambled in her stocking feet across the durasteel decking the short distance to the galley. There, coughing, she shut down the system, waving smoke away from her face with one hand as she opened the oven and the sight of a very crispy cake greeted her. She sighed dejectedly. As usual, Elle had gotten engrossed in her research and forgotten that she was attempting to cook. The human woman pulled her ruined creation out of the oven and set it on the table as the faint whirring of a fan indicated the ship's air purification systems kicking in.

" _Droyk_ ," she muttered again, poking it with a grimace. Inedible.

The chirps and beeps of an astromech droid echoed down the ship's corridors from the cockpit right then, presenting a welcome distraction. "Alright, R4, I'll be right there," she called back when the droid informed her there was an incoming comm call.

Elle crossed the corridor again to return to her quarters for a sweater, closing it over the rather indecent shirt she was wearing since she was alone on the ship, then walked up the short distance to the cockpit. A ship such as the YT-1760 was small to the point of almost being cramped, meaning it only took her ten strides between all three places.

In the cockpit she sat down at the comm station, which sprang to life to reveal Marek Stannard, a Republic Intelligence lieutenant. Elle herself worked for the Senate Bureau of Intelligence, tasked with the security of the Republic's senators, while Marek followed a more military line of work, but she and Marek had found it beneficial in the past to share information.

They'd shared many _other_ things in the past, too.

So the smile she gave him was genuine—something rare in their line of work. Whenever he called it always brightened her day. "Marek! Please tell me you've got a lead on Senator Gammuto's case to tell me about," she greeted him enthusiastically. There had been an assassination attempt on the Senator about a month ago, and she still had no leads to find the killer.

" _Sorry to disappoint you, Elle,"_ he returned cheerfully. Human, with brown hair and eyes, a friendly face and perfect teeth, he was handsome in whatever setting, but at the moment he wore his dark RI uniform, which made him extra dashing, in Elle's opinion. He was still on Coruscant, then. _"I do, however, have a tip on Senator Nnaufmin for you."_

 _Now_ she sat up straighter. This was a case that had eluded her for _months_.

" _The RI got an anon tip from Muunilinst. GAR just hit the capital, Harnaidan, and someone found some Seppie tech intact among the rubble. RI's sending someone of their own for it, but they're not in a hurry, given the amount of anon tips we get just in a day. I figured you'd want it too; besides by the time they get there it might be gone. I figured anything could help. That's where San Hill's headquarters are anyway. Allegedly."_

She was nodding, already waving for R4 to start inputting the coordinates into the Nav computer. "You're absolutely right, Marek, that sounds interesting. If I find anything I think you need too, I'll let you know," Elle replied.

He glanced off screen for a moment. _"Great! I gotta go. And Elle? You look good,"_ he added as an after thought, with that damn dashing smile that always made her stomach flip. She grinned widely at him and went to suggest that maybe after this she could swing back to the Core for a day or so and they could meet up, but he was already turning away, rising from his chair, and as he moved she caught sight of a suspiciously shaped bruise on his neck, peeking out from under the high dark collar of his uniform. Elle slumped back in her seat as the screen finally went dark.

She _had_ to stop mooning after the man, the brunette woman told herself firmly for the umpteenth time. For a moment, when his face appeared on the call, she'd thought _just maybe_ , he was finally making a personal call, considering the date; but of course, as always with Marek, he only called when he needed something from her. Information or sex, it didn't seem to ever be any more personal with him.

Sighing, Elle dropped her boss a message informing him that she was off to Muunilinst to check on a tip while feeding the nav computer the coordinates, and then she stood up again. "Get us into hyperspace, R4," she instructed over her shoulder as she left the cockpit, intent on heading back to her terminal to pull up some intel on Muunilinst.

But first she had to swing back around the corner into the galley and clean up her attempt at a birthday cake for herself.

"Happy Birthday to me," Elle murmured to herself as she dumped the ruined cake down the trash compactor, the quiet ship making her feel alone more than usual in that moment.

XXXXX

 _Muunilinst, Harnaidan, temporary GAR garrison, 4 months after the start of the Clone War_

Clone Lieutenant CT-4629, who preferred to be called Jarel, was cleaning the last of his kit after the Battle of Muunilinst in the clone barracks when his commlink buzzed and Commander Fordo ordered him to report to the landing pad immediately.

It took him only a moment to reassemble and store his DC-15A rifle and then he hastily pulled on the top half of his blue-striped white armor again. Donning his helmet and snagging his DC-17S, Jarel walked with long strides to the landing pad—really just an open courtyard they'd cleared of rubble. Harnaidan was full of a lot of rubble now.

Stepping into the open space, he immediately spotted Commander Fordo, armor striped red, standing at the foot of the landing ramp of a Corellian freighter, with a human woman wearing the field suit and light body armor of an SBI agent.

So, his anonymous tip had been received, then, and acted upon in a timely matter. Safe behind his helmet, Jarel smiled. Not an RI agent, as he had hoped to attract, he noted with a frown, but she had her own ship and if she proved competent, that was all he required. He snapped a sharp salute to Fordo as he joined them.

"CT-4629, reporting as ordered, sir," he said crisply.

"Lieutenant, this is SBI agent Joelle Karlsen," Fordo addressed him without preamble. "She's here to see that Seppie tech you found. Take her out there."

In order to ensure that he knew of any intelligence agents landing on Muunilinst, Jarel had included finding the tech in his report to Fordo so the Commander would assign him as escort. But he had also reported it anonymously straight to the RI intel lines, not willing to take any chances on the report being missed. He was running out of time and this was the best chance he'd gotten so far.

For all that Fordo was an ARC, he was easy to manipulate.

"Yes sir," Jarel said with a salute, tone stoic and not betraying his pleasure at how well his plan was unfolding. He turned his appraising gaze back to the woman as Fordo left.

She was average height, neither tall nor short, with an athletic build. Slim, but not petite. Her dark brown hair was braided and wrapped in a tight bun on her head, and her eyes, behind a small, transparent visor, were green. Actually, he found her quite attractive; the SBI's light body armor was tight on her, doing little to hide her curves—especially her ass. But he wasn't here to take in how pretty she was, he was here to see what skills she had to offer.

"Lead on, trooper," the agent—Joelle—told him, and he gave a sharp nod of his helmeted head.

"Right. It's this way, sir," he gestured with the muzzle of the rifle in his arms and set off at a brisk pace. She fell into step a pace behind him as they exited the GAR headquarters in the captured city and hiked out into the war torn streets.

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 _AN: Reviews are loved!_ _I have a lot of this story already written, so it should update pretty soon._


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Here's chapter 2. The next chapter is almost complete too, but I can't guarantee it will update this quickly again._

 _Disclaimer: Everything you recognize doesn't belong to me._

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 _Harnaidan, Muunilinst, 4 months after the start of the Clone War_

The fighting in Harnaidan had ceased for now, the GAR claiming a victory. Joelle had established that on the Republic channels while still in orbit. The news wasn't released to the civilian populace yet, but as an SBI agent she had access codes, and as a slicer, there were few channels she _couldn't_ get into. Elle preferred covert ops to open battles.

Still, the city was a dangerous hike just from the unstable rubble that could give way under foot at any moment. Add to that the loose sparking power and comm lines, and she had little time to look around, all her concentration focused on where she was putting her feet. But after spending almost a week cooped up in her little freighter, it felt good to stretch her legs. The clone trooper set a pretty fast pace, due to his longer legs, but Elle hardly minded. She kept herself fit, often spending her hyperspace hours engaged in aerobics, and had no trouble keeping up with him.

Around them, clone troopers were rescuing and rounding up Muun civilians and survivors, clearing rubble. Some streets were almost completely spared any destruction, while on others the buildings were reduced to piles. Many landmarks were gone, the streets buried under rubble, and to Elle navigating the city would have been difficult, even with the downloaded map on her HUD visor.

The trooper with her led the way confidently, however. Elle hadn't really had a chance to spend any time with the Republic's new clone army since the war started four months ago, so she watched him curiously whenever she could. She had met clones before; the process had been around for quite a few years, but always strictly regulated. Those clones had never seemed smart enough to serve as an army, instead being doe-eyed creatures that needed orders simply to organize cleaning supplies, so when she had first heard about the GAR she had been doubtful about their success. But this clone walked with purpose, and Elle had spent countless hours with soldiers and had enough hand to hand combat experience to recognize a dangerous man when she saw one. He knew how to handle himself in a fight, she was certain, and his grip on his blaster was familiar.

Not an ordinary civvie, being an intelligence agent, Joelle knew a lot more about the creation of the clone army than the average citizen, though she had never heard about Kamino before the clone army had appeared. Most of the clones she had met before now were commanders, or the company that served as Senate security back on Coruscant. They were precise, polite, and professional, like many bounty hunters or mercenaries she had met. And she had never once thought that any of them were dumb. Elle wasn't quite how creative they were, yet, but they always seemed alert and competent. It was a nice surprise, to be honest. The Republic had spent an awful large sum of credits on them.

CT-4629 seemed like any other trooper, save he wore a pauldron over each shoulder and a bandoleer across his chest, and his armor had so many blue stripes it was almost half blue, half white, much less shiny than the majority of the entirely white troopers they passed. A large blue stripe ran up the faceplate and over the top of his helmet, leaving only the sides white. The pauldrons were gray and blue over his shoulders, and thick, solid blue stripes ran down each arm, shoulder to wrist. Most of his chest plate was blue as well, down both sides. From the knee down, the armor was entirely blue, boots and all.

She had never seen such a pattern before; it had all the correct markings and color of a clone lieutenant, but with additions. Yet the design was simple and minimalistic, all straight lines, just covering as much as possible. And Elle couldn't think of anyone who would alter it but the trooper himself.

He didn't speak as he led her; that was typical of the clones she had met as well: they only spoke to you if you addressed them. But something was nagging in the back of her mind, and Elle was never afraid to voice her thoughts.

"I'm curious how you know where we're going," she said to break the silence. "I was told this was relayed by an anonymous tip, yet your commander knew to call you immediately."

The trooper turned his head so the T-shaped visor on the front of his faceplate faced her for a moment, but didn't stop hiking as he spoke. "I include things in my reports. I have no control over who chooses to report what," he answered simply, voice slightly tinny through his external speakers.

Joelle narrowed her eyes suspiciously at what seemed to be an evasive answer, coupled with the lack of polite title, but she let it slide for now because in her experience clones just didn't _do_ that.

Before she could contemplate that anymore, the clone stopped in front of a mostly intact building. It appeared to have originally been a corporate office building, large and industrial but the sign was too ruined to read now. "It's in here, 3rd floor," he informed her, tapping the side of his helmet to activate his headlamp. Elle put any other thoughts out of her mind to focus on the mission, pulling a scanner from a pocket on her utility belt to search for additional pieces of tech as they walked through the ruined building.

Parts were blackened, parts intact. Chairs, desks, flimsies and broken datapads were scattered haphazardly, along with personal affects. Dust and debris from the walls and ceiling coated everything, and got in her mouth when she inhaled. It tasted of smoke and metal.

She followed the clone up two dark flights of stairs, navigated in flickering light as the power fluctuated, glancing at her scanner every few steps. On the third floor, two doors down the hall and around a large hole in the floor, he dropped his rifle into only one hand and she watched as he moved some rubble he'd cleverly hidden the tech behind. Pulling out a datapad, rod, and her slicing tools, Elle knelt and eagerly got to work, leaving him to stand guard.

She was a good slicer, and she'd written a number of programs to help speed things along. It took her only about five minutes to gain access to the computer's memory core, and only so long because she took precautions to avoid triggering any fire walls that could delete the data. In doing so, she noticed she wasn't the first one to slice in. The work was sneaky, but there were a few lines of tampered code she came across, and Elle was good. This was confirmed as she started going through the data files: what remained was sure to contain great evidence, but something was missing, a series of numbers indicative of files. After making sure the memory core would survive being shut down and transported, and disabling a few fail safes, she powered everything down, stood, and turned to stare hard at her clone escort.

He was staring at her intently, leaning casually against the door frame, watching her, not the hallway, rifle relaxed in his hands. Tall and broad shouldered, he was a menacing figure, but she had dealt with these types of men before. Usually, they underestimated her. Most men did; she looked dainty, but Elle had extensive hand to hand combat training and kept herself fit.

"What did you take?" she demanded quietly, feeling him out, not quite ready to start a fight.

The clone didn't react, didn't move a muscle. "Excuse me, sir?" His voice was meant to sound innocent and confused, but carried an undertone of mirth.

"CT-4629, was it?" she inquired. He hesitated, then gave a single, stiff nod. His entire body seemed to tense up when she recited his numbers. "Someone's sliced this before," she informed him, though she suspected he already knew, pointing to the tech on the floor with one gloved hand. "I assume it was you. I want whatever data you took."

"You can't prove that," he said simply, the most unhelpful phrase she had ever heard from a clone. She sucked in a breath of surprise through her nose.

Elle crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to one foot, eyes narrowing as she glared at him. "No. But I need that data, for the security of the Republic. Hand it over. What good is it to you?"

He still didn't move, visor impassive, the best poker face anyone could conceive. And he didn't even have to work at it. "Make it worth my while." This time, his tone was an open challenge.

 _That_ caught her off-guard, and her eyebrows shot up for a moment, before she composed herself. This was a surprise. A clone, ignoring orders, and _bargaining_ with her? Elle had never heard of such a thing, and it made her take a few mental steps backwards in her estimation of clones.

"Fine," she said simply, playing along, trying to throw him off-guard in turn by giving in. "Name your price, but know that my funds are limited." She was curious as to what would tempt a clone, after all.

He didn't disappoint her, giving an honest answer without skipping a beat. "I don't want funds, I want off this _kriffing_ planet, away from my company," he explained without preamble, causing her eyebrows to shoot up again in surprise. Wasn't loyalty to the Republic supposed to be bred into these clones? Why in the galaxy was he trying to desert? "And I want you to use your contacts to help me find something."

"That's a hard bargain. You really think _I_ can do all of that?" Elle returned incredulously, stalling to buy herself time to think over his offer and figure out if she could even meet his demands, nevertheless whether she _should_ or not.

The clone was confident, and determined. He didn't even flinch, as if he knew she had no choice. He just shrugged and, to farther tempt her, pulled a datarod from a pocket on his bandoleer, holding it up between them temptingly. Her eyes immediately landed on it, knowing it had to contain the missing data, and Elle had the sensation of a trap closing around her. He began twirling it absently between his fingers. The T-visor on his helmet stared her down, but of course without seeing his eyes she couldn't tell where exactly he was looking. It unnerved her, but she hid it. Inside, she was bristling at the way she had been maneuvered into a corner.

Elle pursed her lips in thought, but not for long. What choice did she have, after all? They were here, alone. Elle knew her strengths, and she knew she would never be able to physically pry the datarod from him; he was too large, too strong for her to win in a fight. Her skills depended on stealth, attacking when her opponent wasn't prepared, blending in, and occasionally pick pocketing. He would probably just crush it in his fist the moment she made a hostile move. He was the one here with nothing to lose, and she knew from experience that gave him the bargaining power.

And she hated it. Elle hated losing control of a situation, but now she suspected that she had never been in control at all, and this entire thing was a set up. If she chose to try and go back to the garrison and report to his commander, he would still have plenty of time to destroy the datarod, and then there would be no proof of her claims against him.

If she wanted that data, she was going to have to bite and go along with what he asked, as much as she hated the idea. "Fine. _Deal_. Now help me carry this _frinking_ stuff back to my ship."

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 _AN: Oh, Elle, you have no idea how much you're going to hate him. Reviews are loved!_

 _I usually don't post answers to reviews here, because I prefer to reply over the PM system, but thank you so much for your reviews! I was a bit concerned that no one else besides me would be interested in a story only about OCs. I shall try not to let you down._


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: I know, it's off to a slow start, but I want to keep the chapters short. This is all just setting the scene, and then it will go faster. Things should pick up after chapter 5._

 _Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me._

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 **Chapter 3**

 _Harnaidan, Muunilinst, on board the_ Tracker _, 4 months after the start of the Clone War_

Getting the clone on the _Tracker_ was far easier than Elle anticipated. He carried the tech back to her ship over one shoulder and with relative ease, even through the treacherous rubble. Once they were away in hyperspace she could take all the time necessary to decrypt the tech—considering she wasn't strictly supposed to _be_ here but had come to help out Marek, she didn't want to linger on Muunilinst longer than necessary. Elle should have been awed or at least impressed by his display of physical strength, but she was still too annoyed at being outmaneuvered by a clone to do more than glower at his back as they hiked back out of the city.

As soon as CT-4629 set down the tech on her lounge table—she grudgingly admitted not having to carry it all herself was nice—Joelle told him to go get whatever he wanted to bring with him, which, from the way he had turned back to the door almost immediately, he seemed eager to do. His confidence that she would not just leave without him peeved Joelle even farther. He _knew_ she wasn't about to leave without that frinking datarod, which was still in his bandoleer. Not that Elle had any idea what sorts of things a clone possibly possessed and wanted to pack, but she figured she was about to find out, and she needed him out of the way while she arranged for his transfer.

As soon as he was gone, she went to the cockpit to sit down at the comm terminal, trying to soothe her annoyed, glowering expression into cool professionalism before her boss wondered what was wrong. There were three attempted calls from her commanding officer, no doubt in response to that little note she had dropped, informing him she was going to Muunilinst without so much as a by-your-leave. Elle hoped the tech would be worth it. And now she needed a favor as well.

With a grimace, Joelle directed the terminal to connect her to the SBI headquarters on Coruscant, tugging her gloves off as she waited for it to connect. It spoke volumes that it did almost immediately, despite the late hour on the Core world.

 _"Just what do you think you're doing, skipping off to karking Muunilinst when you're supposed to be on krinking Ord Mantell!?"_ was Ilko Deminar's opening line to her. Seated at his desk in his office, the official SBI seal on the wall behind him framing his head, the director of the SBI's cyrptanalysis department did not look happy.

"I know, sir, and I'm sorry," Joelle said hurriedly. "But you know I wouldn't have without good reason. And I kept you informed this time!" she ended brightly with a tense smile, trying to curry any favor she could.

Ilko didn't even hide his sigh as he rested his elbows on his desk and dropped his face into his hands, massaging his temples. _"Elle, field agents are no good to me if they don't go where they're krinking supposed to,"_ he told her for the umpteenth time, voice sounding strained. _"I have work to get back to, so let's hear it."_

"RI got a tip about some Seppie tech. I've already picked it up and it looks promising," she launched into her report, trying to keep it short and sweet. She'd learned that the less details shared, the better. She could always add more if necessary. "I'll start decoding it en route to Ord Mantell," she promised. "It's undamaged. Building was pretty kriffing trashed so I don't think anyone had time to tamper with it."

" _Joelle, you_ have _to stop running missions for karking RI. That's their jurisdiction,"_ he admonished, again not for the first time, and she pressed her lips together in a smooth line and let him. _"Anyway, it's ours now. I suppose that's good, but if you've lost your target's trail on Ord Mantell, it won't be,"_ he said, holding up a warning finger.

"All my intel suggests Onaheim is not planning on leaving his hidey-hole any time soon, but I understand, sir," she said, playing contrite.

" _Is that all? As you can see, I have a mountain of paperwork."_ She could, indeed, see a stack of flimsies to one side of his desk, and a few datapads.

Elle swallowed the desire to fidget and licked her lips. "I'm sorry, sir, but there's one thing more," she told him, hesitating slightly as she tried to figure out the best way to present her proposal. He gestured impatiently for her to continue. "I'd like you to transfer a clone trooper to work with me," she said bluntly.

Ilko Deminar gaped at her for a moment, head still in his hands, not amused. The brunette woman could count on one hand the number of times she had seen that expression. _"Really."_ His voice was full of disbelief. _"What happened to you not wanting a partner?"_

"I've changed my mind," Joelle said as convincingly as she could, not really having an answer for that, since nothing had changed. She had fought against having a partner for over a year now, after all. Making this not seem suspicious would be a task. He was studying her face on his screen too intently already.

Ilko worked his jaw in thought. _"Well, if you're sure, then after you're done on Ord Mantell, I'll have one ready for you. Perhaps I can track down an ARC—"_

"No, sir." It was a risk, interrupting him, but she had to be firm. "It has to be _this_ clone, CT-4629, or we're back to no one. I've sent his service record to you. Lots of muscle. Just like you wanted."

 _"They made 3 million copies of the man, Elle. None of them are particularly different from the other. Complete your assignment and we'll get you one from here. Or I've still got those dossiers—"_

"No thank you, sir. I want CT-4629."

He was staring at her like she had grown a second head, and Elle had to fight not to fidget again. Her insistence was making him suspicious, she could tell by how intently he was staring at her. _"You fly 12 hours away from your blinking assignment and then ask for kriffing favors?"_ her boss bit out.

"I know it's a lot to ask, sir, but—"

" _A lot to ask!? You want me to track down one specific blinking clone that's not even on Coruscant, and not even special forces, and just transfer him into an intelligence agency, from which I might not ever be able to transfer him out of. I didn't think you were a laserbrain, Joelle."_ She sat still, having nothing else to add, and not really even insulted. She felt a little guilty, having to pull him into this. But that kriffing clone was coming whether he said yes or not, and she would rather give him the chance to say yes.

" _Kriff! Fine!"_ Ilko surprised her. _"I don't have time for this. I'll transfer—CT-4629. But I want you off Muunilinst in an hour, and this is the_ last _time you run favors for RI. Do you hear me, Joelle?"_ His face was the sternest she had ever seen it. The best thing about Ilko was that no matter how emotional he got, he never let his emotions get between what was the best for his agents and their missions. He was somehow able to be furious and yet remain level headed and coolly logical at the same time. And she was a good agent _—_ good enough that if she wanted a specific partner, he'd go along with it and see how it turned out. She supposed it helped that it was a clone, however. There would be no family to miss his absence, like there would for any other military personnel.

"Sir, yes sir," Joelle saluted smartly, relieved. She kept a repentant expression on her face until the screen darkened and then slouched back in her seat, massaging her own temples. _Droyk!_ That frinking clone had cost her doing Marek favors. There had better be something useful in that damn data to help all of them, because she believed Ilko that this was the last time she could get away with it. Actually, she didn't think he minded her choice of "partner" so much as he did her guts to ask right then—and it _was_ terribly unprofessional. Hopefully she could find whatever the clone wanted quickly, and get him off her ship, so she could tell Ilko what was really going on.

A clatter of hard soled boots on the durasteel decking echoed through the ship and alerted her to her new partner's return. Sighing, Joelle smoothed a hand through her hair and hid her annoyance behind a cool professional mask. She rose from the terminal and headed back to the loading ramp, where she saw he'd brought his commander along.

"Sir," the red striped clone said, turning sharply from where CT-4629 was dropping a pack to the floor and snapping her a salute. His politeness was a relief. "The lieutenant here has told me that he's leaving with you. I'm sorry, I can't let him go without authorization." She wasn't a short woman, but the clones were each more than a head taller than her, and armored, and suddenly she felt very petite.

"It's alright, Commander," Joelle said, holding up her hands in a placating manner. "I just got done talking to Coruscant. The transfer paperwork should be coming through soon. But I have a tight schedule to keep, so I can't wait around." The commander had his helmet on, but the T-visor turned as he looked between the two of them, still uncertain.

Her new friend stepped in. "See? Like I krinking _said_ , Fordo. Not going bandit, it's all approved. We've got clankers to pop and you're holding things up," the blue striped clone said, practically pulling the other clone towards the exit as he talked. Fordo went to throw his hands off him and then both clones paused, as if listening to something Elle couldn't hear—which was possible, since they both wore their helmets.

"Fine," the commander said after a moment. "Good hunting, brother." And he strode off down the ramp.

Her clone hit the button to close the ramp with a fist, probably harder than was necessary, then spun around and strode back towards the gear he had brought. Only then did Elle get a good look at his pack—which seemed to contain nothing but weapons. Had she expected otherwise?

"Astral," her new guest said dryly. "Give her the gun and let's get the fek out of here."

Elle felt her headache building. She thumbed the intercom button on the wall beside her. "R4, fire up the engines. Let's get out of here. Not there," she added, speaking just to the clone again, when he started setting things out her table and the bench seat. She crossed the lounge to a narrow door on the other side. It opened to reveal the cramped crew quarters, a small room with three bunks on each side save the one with the door. "You can stay in here," she started, then had to step back as he shouldered past her before she'd finished speaking.

"Astral. Stay out," he said gruffly and shut the door in her face.

"Hey!" Elle protested. "It's _my_ frinking ship!" she yelled, knowing from experience that he could hear every word even through the door. Grumbling as she felt the ship lift off, Elle went to secure the new tech they'd grabbed so it wouldn't slide and then walked up to the cockpit, dropping into the pilot's seat.

She tapped their destination into the Nav computer, and by the time the _Tracker_ was clear of the atmosphere, the coordinates were set and they jumped to hyperspace.

* * *

 _AN: Oh Elle. If you think you have a headache now, just wait two chapters._

 _I actually having an amazing amount of this story written, so hopefully I'll keep updating at this pace._


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: Forgot to mention last chapter, but Ilko Deminar doesn't belong to me. I'm not actually sure who gets credit for that character, I just found his name while researching the SBI. So he's technically a canon character, and not one of my OCs._

 _Disclaimer: Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me._

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 _Hyperspace, en route to Ord Mantell, onboard the_ Tracker _, 4 months after the start of the Clone War_

For a few minutes, Elle stared out the viewport, watching the swirling blue light of hyperspace. Even though it was supposed to be a chaotic swirl of stretched stars, she nevertheless found the sight familiar and calming. Joelle spent a lot of time in hyperspace, alone. Some nights when she couldn't sleep, she would sit here instead. Sometimes, when the ache of having an empty bed drove her out it, it was the only way she _could_ sleep. Then she'd wake when the proximity alarm sounded with a crick in her neck from sleeping in the hard pilot's seat.

But right now, she didn't have time to sleep. She needed to decrypt and download whatever data was on the Seppie terminal, and send it on to the SBI analyists. The sooner she did that, the faster she would appease Ilko's temper.

And Marek would want to know what she had found. Having an excuse to call him always brightened her day.

With a quiet sigh, Elle pushed herself back to her feet and headed back down the gangway to the lounge. But first she turned sharply to the left and stepped around the corner into the galley to start water heating in order to brew herself some tea, in the process noticing just how low her supplies were getting. The last of her fresh supplies had been saved for a week, then gone wasted into her botched cake. The brunette frowned as she started the machine. Now she had two mouths to feed. As soon as they were done on Ord Mantell, she needed to find a market that didn't cost an arm and a leg. Which meant she had better ask her new partner what he liked to eat.

Dwelling on this thought, as well as on the status of her credit account and wondering if she would get a stipend since clones weren't paid, Elle left the tea brewing and crossed to the room opposite the galley, her quarters.

Stripping out of her field suit, the woman searched for something to wear and realized for the first time what a mess her quarters were, suddenly not sure if she even had any clean clothes left. She had been living alone for so long—almost a year now—that she hadn't even considered that. With another sigh, she grabbed the cleanest shirt she could find and slipped it on, adding _Laundry_ to her mental list of things to do after she got through on Ord Mantell. For now it would have to wait.

Stepping out of her quarters, Elle skipped back to the galley, eagerly following the scent of tea, and retrieved her mug before walking out to the lounge to begin working on the Seppie tech. Unsecuring it from the crash webbing, she hefted the heavy terminal onto the durasteel table bolted to the floor. Retrieving her datarod and a multitool out of her utility belt, she set to work on the recovered terminal, hooking it up to a secure datapad so that she could download anything useful and decrypt it.

An hour into the task, she was finally getting some useful information from the files when the crew quarters door slid open. Elle glanced over the top of her visor at the clone as he stepped out into the lounge—and then did a double take.

He'd ditched most of his plastoid armor, save his boots, and he was holding a datapad. All he wore now was the tight black bodyglove all the clones wore under their armor, and it left _nothing_ to the imagination. It clung to his toned abdomen and chest so that it was almost impossible to take her eyes off him, and immediately made her feel weak in the knees. She felt her stomach drop and a spike of heat exploded low in her belly, and Elle was suddenly reminded that it had been a year since she'd last had a romp with Marek. She really needed to insist on seeing him the next time she was on Coruscant.

Summoning all her will power, Elle jerked her attention back to the terminal in front of her, hoping he had not noticed her momentary distraction. Her hand was still raised with the tool she was using but she couldn't remember what she was about to do with it.

"Have you forgotten about our kriffing bargain?" the clone demanded as he strode around the bench seat bolted in place beside the table and faced her across it. "You're _supposed_ to be using your fekking contacts to find someone for me. _That_ was our deal," the clone said, planting his hands on the table and leaning forward so their eyes were level. His eyes were very dark and piercing, she noticed.

She sent him an annoyed glance and set down her tools. "We need to talk about our deal," Elle firmly retorted.

The clone paused, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, face contorting into a snarl. Ready to fight. "Are you going back on your kriffing word? I _will_ crush the datarod, and then what will you do?"

"Send you out the frinking airlock," she fired back immediately, quickly becoming annoyed. She had better things to spend her time on right now. "And save myself a world of trouble." She peeled off her gloves and threw them down on the table before placing her palms on it and leaning forward. "You wanted to get away from your company. I did that. It's time I saw some return." Elle fixed him with her sternest look.

To her shock, he grinned, but it was devoid of humor. "Oh _really_? I don't think so. That was only _part_ of the kriffing deal. You find who I'm looking for, and take me there, and _then_ I'll give you the complete datarod, all at once."

Elle frowned, her brow furrowing in genuine concern. "' _Who?'_ On Muunilinst, you said something, not some _one_. People are _much_ harder to find than things," she told him levelly. "Plus, I don't even know that the data on that rod is even useful to me. You've invaded my home and nearly cost me my job. I'm not going a step farther without some assurance that you can actually help me."

He studied her closely for a minute, as if thinking, and then pushed off the table to stand straight again. Reaching up under the collar of his body glove, his deft fingers found a chain and pulled it up, revealing the datarod, which he unhooked. "May I?" he asked, though he was already moving around the table to her datapad. Bending over it, he inserted the datarod, selected a file, and copied it to her datapad before pulling out the datarod.

Elle grabbed the pad back, quickly investigating the file. Financial records, transaction records, and wire transfer records, sprang into view when she accessed the file, linking several banks and organizations she was following. The SBI agent took a deep, steadying breath.

"And there's more, in even greater detail," the clone said, voice smug. "All of it is on this datarod." He twirled it temptingly between his deft fingers again.

"There are Senators _lives_ at stake here," she told him, finally tearing her eyes away from the datapad to stare at him. "Let me have it _now_ , and we might be able to save them," Elle begged, her fingers already working fast to organize the files.

"And I'll never find who I'm looking for," the clone said brusquely, putting his fists on the table and leaning forward again, not flinching. "If you're in such a hurry, I guess you had better find her fast."

Joelle narrowed her eyes. " _Her?_ " she repeated incredulously.

"Majel Vlamingh," he clarified, setting the datapad he held down and slowly sliding it across the table towards her, as if reluctant to share it. The screen had a web of cracks across it, and there were several dents in the side. It looked like an older model, Elle noted as she gingerly slid it over to herself. "This is everything I've been able to find on her. Last known location, last known contact number." He stopped abruptly.

Elle cautiously picked up the data pad and started to read. There wasn't much, a single page, complete with an image, physical description, and a list of former addresses. Curious, Elle turned around and carried it across the lounge where she sat down at the holonet terminal, inputting some of the addresses and numbers. The clone followed close behind her, and stood watching over her shoulder, arms crossed over his chest. She could almost feel heat radiating from him into her back and side and it was distracting. After a few minutes, she hadn't turned up anything more than what he had already found.

"This is going to take some time," she told him, turning her head to both stretch her neck and look at him, rubbing her temple absentmindedly with one hand. "I will have to send this to a few of my associates. I have someone in the security bureau who can look over emigrant records for me, if she's left the planet, but _it will take time,_ " she emphasized, giving him a stern look.

He shrugged, indifferent. "You get the kriffing datarod when you find her."

"Deal. But I'm a busy person. I don't have time to devote to just one mission at a time. My boss transferred you here under the pretense of you being my…partner," she said, not sure how he would accept the word. Not sure if _she_ liked the word. "You're going to have to assist with my assignments until we find a lead," she told him firmly, looking him dead in the eye. He stared back at her, unflinching, for a moment before answering.

"This ship's too kriffing small to stay on all the time anyway," he said apathetically, shrugging his broad shoulders.

"Which means when we're off the ship, you're going to have to follow my orders," she continued, slightly miffed that he was insulting her ship. He turned his head away, looking across the lounge at something, then shrugged his wide shoulders again. "Here's a more important question," Elle said slowly, turning her chair to face him as he looked back down at her. "Why is a _clone_ looking for a pretty girl like this?"

"That's none of your fekking business," he said flatly, face blank.

"What if I refuse to find her until you tell me why you're looking for her?" Elle retorted.

"I'll crush the datarod in my fist," he shot back. She pursed her lips in anger, his childish threats beginning to get annoying. He was stubborn, she had to give him that. But his inability to try and find some other solution was maddening. She had to wonder, however, was it that he lacked creativity, or was he _that_ desperate?

"You're frinking frustrating, for a kriffing clone," she finally muttered, unable to reach a conclusion, turning back around to face the holonet terminal.

" _Don't call me that_ ," he hissed angrily, the most emotion in his voice she had heard yet. "It's not my name."

"Whatever you say, CT-4629," she mumbled, tried of arguing with him. Suddenly she found herself face to face with him as he snagged the back of her chair and spun her around. Her protest was cut off when he leaned in close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek, and the heat from his skin. He glared at her, and it was more the desperate, murderous look in his eyes that shut her up instead of his proximity.

"That's not my blinking name either," he growled quietly. "Call me Jarel."

" _Jarel?_ " she repeated, dubiously, trying to ignore the way the tickle of his breath on her cheek made her skin tingle and sent a shiver down her spine. "Are you _sure_ you don't mean 'jarhead'?"

Jarel sneered as he shoved away from her. "Just kriffing find her, and drop me off, and then you can go on with your perfect kriffing life," he called over his shoulder as he walked back to the crew quarters and shut the door again.

* * *

 _AN: Sorry for how long this chapter took, this one was a bit tricky to write, for some reason. I kept taking things out and putting them back in. I was trying to figure out just how much to give away right now. As such, if anyone notices anything conflicting or out of place, please let me know so I can fix it. Also school started so I've gotten busier, but I've still found time to write, so no fear._

 _Poor Elle, having such a headache. I don't think she even got to enjoy her tea! Next chapter will be set on Ord Mantell, and then it's back to Coruscant._


	5. Chapter 5

_AN:Well, I was hoping to cover the entirety of their stay on Ord Mantell in this chapter, but then this lovely scene turned into a chapter by itself, so it might take a little longer to get through the mission than I planned. But that just means more chapters, right? So right now expect the next chapter to also be on Ord Mantell, and then back to Coruscant after that. The good news is that chapter 7 is already mostly written, so I just have to write chapter 6._

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

 _Hyperspace, en route to Ord Mantell, onboard the_ Tracker _, 4 months after the start of the Clone War_

After the clone retreated back into the crew quarters, Joelle continued her work decrypting the files on the Separatist terminal. Three hours later, her eyes too tired to see straight and a crick in her neck from bending over the lounge table, she begrudgingly admitted defeat and went to bed.

Five short hours later, she woke to the abrupt beeping of the alarm she had set. Groaning, the woman rolled over to press the button on the wall harder than was strictly necessary, her eyes still feeling bleary and strained and her neck still feeling tight, but if she wanted to be prepared before they reached Ord Mantell, she had better get to work.

With a sigh, Elle pushed herself out of bed and headed, barefoot, for the galley, wondering just how much caf was left. She indefinitely preferred tea over caf, but caf was for emergencies.

Suddenly a loud, _appreciative_ whistle startled the woman and she jumped, spinning to the face the lounge, where the sound had originated. One hand reflexively snapped down to her right hip, where her blaster pistol usually rested. Except that she was safe aboard her own ship and wasn't wearing one at the moment.

The clone—Jarel—was seated languidly on the hard bench seat beside the lounge table, leering at her.

In her fatigue, Elle had completely forgotten about her new guest. She sighed as her heart rate returned to normal, scrubbing her face with a hand.

"That's a good look for you," the clone informed her, his lips curved in a roguish smile as his dark eyes traveled up and down her form, and suddenly Elle realized that her sleeping clothes left little to the imagination.

She hated to be cold, hailing from the temperate plains of Corellia, and as such kept the ship's temperature a little bit warmer than was probably necessary, warm enough to be comfortable in minimal sleepwear that left her long legs and torso largely exposed. Suddenly realizing her mistake, heat flooded her face in a blush and Joelle turned on her heel to hurry back to her quarters.

"My bed's the other way," Jarel called rakishly, opening leering at her backside as she marched away.

"In your frinking _dreams_ ," she called grumpily over her shoulder, with a hard, annoyed glare before the door closed behind her. Finally safe in her quarters again, Elle dropped her face into her hands. With a guest, she'd have to change _all_ her habits, she realized belatedly as she pulled on more clothes before going back for her caf. It was supremely annoying, considering she hadn't _minded_ being alone in the first place.

XXXXX

A few minutes later, wearing trousers now and a jacket and sipping caf, Elle sat herself down in the pilot's seat right as the proximity alarm began to beep. Reaching out with one hand, she eased back the hyperspace controls and returned the ship to realspace, watching as the stars shortened back to familiar pricks of light again.

The alarm and slight shudder from the ship apparently attracted the clone's attention, because a moment later she heard his footsteps coming up the gangway behind her.

"Where the kriff are we?" he asked, confusion coloring his tone as he sat down in the copilot's seat beside her, keen eyes studying the planet out the viewport.

"Ord Mantell," Elle answered simply, sending a short glance his direction out of the corner of her eye. He was wearing only that frinking tight bodyglove again. From this angle, she could easily see the outline of his pectoral muscles, his broad shoulders and biceps. Ilko had been bothering her for over a year to pick a partner so she had some muscle in tight situations; Jarel certainly fit the bill. The man was _all_ muscle. She couldn't let him keep wearing that durned thing. Every time she saw it her heart rate kicked into overdrive and she felt a shiver go down her spine and gather as heat low in her belly. She couldn't afford these kind of thoughts while concentrating on a mission. For the sake of her career, and her relationship with Marek, she needed to get this clone off her ship before she did something stupid.

Elle dragged her gaze back to the planet growing closer and set down her mug of caf to free both her hands for the controls, trying to distract herself before the room grew too hot.

"If you're ready to follow orders, I could use assistance on this mission," she said, tone inquisitive. He gave a noncommittal grunt, still staring out the viewport. "It would help me finish faster, and then we can get on to finding your girlfriend," she continued slyly, looking for some revenge.

"She's _not_ my girlfriend _,"_ he quickly corrected her, shooting her a harsh look. Elle quirked up one eyebrow in an expression that said she didn't believe him, which made him glower and slouch down in the chair.

With a quiet sigh he probably thought she didn't hear, he gave in. "What's the fragging mission?" he asked, as disinterested as possible.

The brunette woman smirked as she reached behind her chair and grabbed a datapad to pass to him. He thumbed the access button and the image of a green Rodian lit up the screen. "This is Onaheim," Elle introduced, fingers jumping on the console to correct their approach to the looming planet slightly. "He's fled Coruscant with Senate secrets— _financial_ Senate secrets. Ilko wants him alive, if at all possible, but ultimately he can't remain at large. My sources tracked the ship he hired here. I'm not sure if he's gone to ground on Ord Mantell or if he has a buyer for the info lined up, but we need to find out if he's already sold any of it, and to whom," Elle briefed the clone, slowly glancing at him again. He was studying the Rodian closely. "All my sources say he's here, but I'll have to flush him out. Ord Mantell might not be as remote as the Outer Rim, but it's full of hidey-holes," she added.

Jarel finally looked up again. "And how the kriff will you do that?"

" _That's_ the easy part," Elle informed him nonchalantly, her fingers working the console again to transmit the _Tracker's_ codes—a set of fabricated ones she used from time to time that would make them appear to be a smugglers. The ship's official SBI codes would doubtless ruin their cover. There wasn't much of an organized government on Ord Mantell but dock owners liked to have information. "He's looking to sell information. I'll be looking to buy. But grabbing him is where your help would speed things along. He's only a Rodian, but he's still stronger than me. I doubt I could subdue him by myself without attracting too much attention. But _you_ could just punch his lights out and pick him up, muttering something about him owing you money, and no one would think anything of it. That happens all the time on planets like these."

He perked up slightly at the thought of getting to rough someone up. "Sounds easy enough. I suppose there will be nothing for me to do otherwise anyway," he said nonchalantly, but Elle suspected he loved being in the middle of the action as much as she did.

"You'll have to wear something else besides _that_ , however," she informed him, waving a finger to indicate the body suit. " _Or_ your armor," she cut him off as he opened his mouth to protest. "One glimpse of you in that white plastoid, and our cover will be blown. No one will want to talk to us."

"Well then, what the frag do you propose I wear?" he asked crankily, crossing his arms over his chest and confirming her suspicions that he had no other clothes to wear. Elle hesitated for a moment, her eyes silently measuring the width of his shoulders.

"Wait here," she said, resigned, reaching a conclusion and rising from her seat.

"No where to go!" he called sarcastically over his shoulder.

A minute later, she returned with a stack of men's shirts and trousers that had remained neatly folded and untouched in a drawer for nearly a year now, and dropped them on his lap. "Here. Hopefully these will fit you," she said as she dropped back into her chair and quickly performed a few more course corrections for their final approach to the planet.

Jarel stared at the clothes in his lap for a moment, then chuckled darkly. "Where the kriff did you get these?" he asked, holding up one shirt, tone conveying disbelief.

"Places," Elle responded shortly, tone clearly not wanting to talk about. This was why she had hesitated before getting them, knowing he would make a big deal out of it, but if he stopped wearing that durned bodysuit, it would be worth it. Hopefully. "It's not important."

"Important, no. _Entertaining_ , yes," he quipped. " _Please,_ tell me about this lucky barve that got banished from your ship _without_ his kriffing clothes," Jarel chortled at an imagined situation.

The woman grit her teeth, fighting down memories. "It wasn't like that," she informed him. "Just feel lucky I have something and _go try them on_ ," she said firmly, pointing past him to the cockpit entrance.

"Kriff, pateesa , if you want me to take my clothes off, you only have to ask. No need to go to all this trouble," Jarel teased as he stood up, the clothes in his arms, and left, fortunately missing the way she bit her lower lip at the involuntary images his words inspired in her head. _Droyk._

Shaking it off, she was distracted by lines of text scrolling across the Nav computer screen set in the console, informing her that she had been cleared for landing, and assigned a docking bay. Moving both hands back to the console, it only took a couple of minutes to land, the _Tracker_ slipping easily through the atmosphere, spiraling over the city of Worlport before gently sinking into her assigned docking bay.

* * *

 _AN: Oh, my poor Elle. I would apologize, but I'm not sorry._

 _I am actually completely in love with Elle at the moment, but we do need to see some things from Jarel's prospective. It's taken me longer to get inside his head than it did for Elle's. Hopefully next chapter will be almost entirely from Jarel's POV. And yes, Jarel, you will find out where those clothes came from!_


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Let me tell you, for a little while I was convinced this chapter would never be published. This chapter has given me such a headache. I kept going back and forth about which scenes to include, and how detailed I wanted to make everything. I hope it's not too confusing, as some of the scenes were written in a different order and then reversed; I've edited it many times but sometimes I miss things. If there's anything that needs correcting please let me know!_

 _Disclaimer: I don't own_ Star Wars.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 _Kaazrid's Cantina, Worlport, Ord Mantell,_ _4 months after the start of the Clone War_

Jarel was feeling distinctly exposed, without his armor.

The reinforced plasteel vest he wore under the shirt and spacer's jacket Joelle had given him felt flimsy and unreliable compared to his usual plastoid plates. Joelle had even warned him against taking any hits. And his hands felt empty, without his DC-17 in them. Instead, his blaster pistol was strapped to his thigh. He had modded it to have more kick than an average pistol, of course, but it was still lighter than he liked, especially in such a crowded environment.

He still hadn't grown used to the civilian clothes. Back on the _Tracker_ , secure in the crew quarters, Jarel had dropped the pile of clothes Joelle had supplied and shimmied eagerly out of his bodysuit, relieved at the prospect of wearing something different. While the black bodyglove was less restrictive sans plastoid, it really wasn't meant to be comfortable, and it chafed sometimes.

The trousers were dark colored, either black or navy, and when he pulled them on fit his hips reasonably comfortably, though they were a little short. The shirts also fit well, though they were tight over his shoulders and the sleeves on a few of them were too short. So the man who had worn them last had been shorter and thinner than him, but not by much. It was a little restrictive, compared to the flexible bodysuit tailored to him, but rolling the sleeves on the shirt up to his elbows helped. At least the spacer's jacket fit well; he liked that article.

The clone had to admit, though, he _was_ blending in, leaning sideways on the cantina bar and occasionally sipping his drink. Every time he glanced at another male human, they seemed similarly dressed and equipped to him. It just felt odd to Jarel, to stand amid a crowd of beings without a bucket on his head, and he didn't much like feeling so exposed. Joelle had informed him duly that the most important piece of undercover work was presenting exactly the image someone expected to see, so they had no reason to grow suspicious. Thus far, she'd given him no reason to doubt her, on _that_ account.

But Jarel didn't trust Joelle, not by a long shot. He was still suspicious about many things she had said, such as about his search taking _months_. He desperately hoped not, because he wasn't sure he had that much time. It _could_ be a ruse, to stall until she got reinforcements, or the datarod away from him. And then she could just space him, and no one would notice or care because he was just a clone. She hadn't even thought to ask him for a name when they'd met, just taken his numbers. His jaw tightened in anger.

All his life, his life had never been his. His armor was painted to be unique, but when he was marching in a company of clones, it wasn't enough to stand out, just one more in a sea of white. His words, even his thoughts, were only what he had been conditioned to repeat before he could even remember. His voice was first another man's.

And even after all of that, everyone he met still tried to squeeze anything and everything out of him.

Here was this woman, firmly in his way, when she already had _everything_ , and all he wanted was _one_ thing. Joelle had a ship. Credits. A face that was hers alone. The choice when to fight. All he got was the choice of which gun to use today—though today she had made that decision for him, too. Given those things, Jarel had a list a klick long of where he'd rather be and things he would rather do, yet Joelle was still here in service to the Republic. She even had men's clothes, though she didn't need them. Jarel had hardly anything he could really call his own. It was enough to incite blind jealousy.

When he had set his trap on Muunilinst, Jarel had been concerned about finding an agent competent enough to find Majel, but he had never considered the agent being as stubborn as Joelle was proving. The plan had been simple: hold the datarod for ransom until Majel was located and then hand it over as he walked off the ship. The last thing he had expected was for it to take time and to have to share a living space with her, playing these games and going around in circles day after day. He didn't dare leave the datarod anywhere and kept it on a chain around his neck; he slept facing the door with his pistol in hand and woke at the slightest noise.

Never had time felt like more of an enemy to Jarel than it had the last few weeks. He told himself infinitely that he had to be patient, or he'd make a mistake and never get what he wanted, but he still felt the press of a deadline. It always felt as if there was a countdown timer in the back of his mind, spurring him on. He'd thought he had finally caught a break when he managed to harangue Joelle into helping him; he had thought finding someone with a ship would be the difficult part. Sitting around on Ord Mantell for three days had _not_ been part of the plan.

The first day, they had landed barely after noon local time, and had done little more than walk through the city a ways to one of Ord Mantell's legendary junkyards, where Joelle had conversed with the shop-keep in a language Jarel didn't understand and they'd hunted around for pieces that Jarel had helped carry back to the ship.

Since then, every spare moment she'd had on the _Tracker_ , Joelle had been on her back in the cockpit, under the console, working on something. While he had made a number of lewd jokes, she'd barely paid him any attention except for annoyed glances—and once almost kicked his knee out, when he'd been standing over her, leering—fully engrossed in whatever she was working on.

They had visited this cantina the last two nights as well. Apparently Joelle frequented Ord Mantell enough to have contacts here. The first night she had quietly talked to one of them about the sort of information she was looking to buy—apparently she had neglected to tell her "friends" that she worked for the Republic. But that hardly mattered to Jarel. Then this morning a comm call had come through on her private channel, and she informed him that one of her friends had set up a meeting for her with the slimy Rodian.

Which was how he had come to be playing a lonely pilot, enjoying a drink at the bar, while out of the corner of his eye he watched Joelle, seated in a booth sipping her own drink, waiting for their contact to arrive. Glancing her direction again, he let his gaze linger for a moment. Speaking of blending in, Joelle looked as comfortable here as she did in the _Tracker's_ lounge, sitting there reading on her datapad. Since arriving on Ord Mantell, she hadn't worn her professional SBI uniform once, instead choosing tight trousers, and colorful, fitted shirts. With that blaster strapped to one thigh, she looked just like any other pilot hanging around in here. Trustworthy or not, there was no denying that Joelle was an attractive woman. Her job demanded she keep herself fit, and hence she had a slender form that was easy on the eyes, and she used that to her advantage, hiding in plain sight. Nobody suspected the pretty face of working undercover.

She could blend in anywhere. Joelle had enough clothes to dress in whatever role she wanted, and spoke at least two languages besides Basic. If she wanted to just disappear and run away with someone she loved, she could, and he doubted anyone would find her. She seemed to know a lot of people as well. He felt jealousy rise inside him again, and turned back to the bar to stare down at his drink, annoyed.

A flash of green out of the corner of his left eye distracted him from moping, and Jarel tilted his head just slightly to follow the progress of a well-dressed Rodian who had just slipped into the loud cantina. _He_ wasn't very good at blending in, seeing as how Jarel caught a few other patrons eyeing the Rodian too. Doing his best to act relaxed, like Joelle had instructed him, the clone slowly turned around to lean backwards on the bar, so he could watch her out of the corner of his eye again. The Rodian had indeed slid into the booth across from her, and Joelle had politely put down her datapad to speak with him, still sipping from her drink. Jarel reached for his own, killing time until the Rodian left.

 _Kriff,_ this was frustrating, all this waiting around. Why they couldn't just shoot the Rodian now was beyond him.

Finally, he noted the Rodian preparing to leave, and Joelle had picked up her datapad again. They were supposed to be exchanging something, but apparently Joelle was too good at that for him to see it. Still trying to act casual, Jarel straightened up and faced the bar again, knocking back the rest of his drink. The bartender stopped in front of him to inquire if he wanted another, but he shook his head, like he had seen some of the other patrons doing. When Jarel glanced back at Joelle again, he was surprised to note that the Rodian was already out of his seat and retracing his steps to the door. Joelle had gone back to reading her datapad.

Pushing off the bar, Jarel couldn't help but smirk as he threaded through the crowd and towards the exit. _Finally_ , he could have some fun.

XXXXX

Joelle was waiting beside the _Tracker's_ lower landing ramp when he strode into the docking bay, Onaheim unconscious over one shoulder. Securing the Rodian had been laughably easy, to his disappointment. She said nothing, merely gestured for him to follow her up the ramp, and led him into the cargo bay, where she helped him secure the Rodian in a temporary holding cell that had been welded to the walls and floor in one corner. Thoroughly frustrated, Jarel kicked the bars for good measure before following Joelle back to the cockpit. But to his surprise she didn't slide into the pilot's seat and begin firing up the ship, no, the woman dropped to her knees and started working under the console again.

"What the kriff are you doing?" he demanded, frustrated, waving both hands in agitation. "We've grabbed the Rodian, now let's get out of here!" He stepped over her legs and sat himself down in the copilot's chair.

The dark haired woman heaved a sigh. "Look, I've been fixing some damaged wires to the navigation console. I'm almost done, will you just be patient a few more frinking minutes?" she grumbled, selecting a tool from the box she had left on the floor.

Suddenly, the comm terminal started ringing, interrupting anything Jarel might have said.

Joelle had set a special chime to inform her when it was Marek calling, just as she had for her boss and family. Upon hearing the chime, Elle pushed herself out from under the console and to her feet to confirm the number on the comm terminal. She hadn't expected Marek to call again so soon. _Blast!_ If he found out she was currently alone on her ship with only a good looking man…

"Out," Elle snapped at Jarel, inwardly wincing at how desperate she sounded. The clone spun around in the chair, taking in the numbers on the screen with a curious glance. "I told you, my contacts are sometimes flighty, and you're intimidating. Out _now_ , Jarel!"

With a sigh, the clone slowly rose—intentionally taking his time—and crossed to the threshold of the cockpit. Then he turned around and leaned on the wall, blocking the door sensors and keeping it open. Out of reach from the comm sensors but where he could still hear and see everything perfectly clearly, and leaving her absolutely no provacy. He was _infuriating_ , but she had no more time to argue with him. The comm call was about to expire, so she slapped the button to answer harder than was necessary. The blue hologram of a man from the waist up appeared hovering over the console.

Despite the presence of the brooding clone, Joelle's face split into a smile when she saw Marek. "Hello!" she greeted him cheerfully.

Unfortunately, Marek didn't look so happy. " _I thought you weren't going to answer,"_ he said, simple words but the tone was accusing. Her smile faltered, and she tried not to glance at Jarel, embarrassed that he was witness to their conversation.

"Sorry, Marek, I was digging into that tech you led me to," she explained, running her fingers through her hair, hoping it looked alright.

" _Good! Did you find anything?"_ His expression brightened and he leaned forward eagerly.

"Well yes, I think it will be useful, after I finish decoding it all—"

" _You haven't done that yet?"_ he cut her off, tone full of scorn and disappointment. _"What's taking so long?"_ he snapped at her.

Finally, she was annoyed. "Hey, I don't work for you, Marek. I'm a busy person," Elle snapped back at him with a sharp look.

The RI agent sighed. _"Alright, alright, I'm sorry, Elle. Just send me what you've got already."_

Lips pressed together in annoyance, the brunette pulled her datarod out of her pocket and plugged it into the comm terminal. While she waited for it to upload, Marek turned away, and Elle stole the opportunity to glance at Jarel. The clone was still standing there, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with an amused expression. He had rolled the shirt sleeves up to his elbows, and the way the muscles in his forearms and biceps bunched when he flexed reminded her of the other thing she wanted to ask Marek.

" _There's not much here, Elle,"_ Marek called her attention back to the comm call with his annoyance.

"Well, I'm not done going through it yet," she replied defensively, becoming very unhappy with his crankiness. "I'll let you know when I am. Hey, I'm headed back to Coruscant, now. Should be there tomorrow. We should get a drink together, if you have time," she added brightly. "It's been a while since I've seen you, and by then I should have most of the data decoded."

He was staring at something else on his screen, not really looking at her. _"Yeah sure, Elle. That's fine. Let me know when you get here. I've got to go now,"_ he said, and terminated the connection without even saying good bye. She retrieved her datarod and spun around again.

"Rude son of a bantha, isn't he," Jarel said as he strolled back to his seat in the copilot's chair and lounged back, propping his head up on the console.

"You would know," Elle retorted heatedly, shooting him a glare and shoving his knee to push his feet off. "You _can't_ distract me during my comm calls with contacts, Jarel!" she scolded.

" _Oh_ , but he's not a contact. At least, not a _business_ one, is he, _Elle._ " He tagged her nickname on the end of the sentence with a proud smirk, practically a croon, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. The way he said her name, breathy, letting his voice drop and stretching out the second half make her stomach flip in anticipation, which quickly turned into an ache.

She licked her suddenly dry lips, fighting to regain her composure, annoyed at how much he had deduced from a single comm call. " _Don't call me that_ ," she snapped in annoyance, settling on the floor to get back to work.

"Why not? _Marek_ gets to, and he's not even your kriffing _partner_ ," he drawled, pronouncing Marek in a higher pitched tone that sounded _remarkably_ similar to how a lovesick school girl would rant about a crush. His smirk grew wider as he propped his feet back up and slid his hands behind his head. Glancing down at her, his eyes were half lidded and appeared very dark, reminiscent of lust directed at her, and it made a flush rise on her face as she fought down another shiver.

"My personal life is none of your business!" Elle bristled, looking down at her hands, to avoid his piercing gaze. "Can we go back to what we were doing?" She was embarrassed by how pleading her voice sounded.

"Of course we can, Elle. At least now I know whose clothes I'm wearing."

* * *

 _AN: It's still not a smooth as I would like, but it's done and that's the important thing. It's also like double as long as the other chapters! I hope you've all enjoyed this glimpse inside Jarel's thoughts! His character has really started to develop, I think I've figured out what makes him tick._

 _Next chapter, we head back to Coruscant, where the real fun begins, and I have most of that written, so an update shouldn't take too long! Because of the many changes I made to this chapter, I have some deleted scenes now. I was contemplating uploading them as a sort of vignette side story to this one, if anyone is interested?_


	7. Chapter 7

_AN: This is where the fun begins._

 ** _EDIT: Yes, I have re-posted this chapter. There are some major changes now, so even if you've already read it you probably want to again. I also split the chapter in half; the original ending to chapter 7 is now chapter 8, but I added so many words that it was necessary. Sorry for the inconvenience and any confusion._**

 _Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it._

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

 _Galactic City, Coruscant,_ _4 months after the start of the Clone War_

Landing on Coruscant was never quick, but it was simple. Coruscant was one of her favorite planets. Coming out of hyperspace, Elle paused for a moment, taking in the sight that greeted them. Before them, the planet's dark side was glowing, the myriad lights creating symmetric circular patterns, the terminator rushing across the surface. Soon the hemisphere that was their destination would be clothed in night as well. While many people saw only gross overpopulation and ugly metal buildings, Elle saw sleek towers rising through graceful clouds and lots of life. Sometimes, when catching thieves and killers weighed her down, Elle would take a walk on Coruscant and simply immerse herself in all the life, seeing happy families and good people living out their lives. The very air seemed to hum with all the voices speaking. It reminded her of why she had chosen her profession.

Pulling her eyes back to the console, Elle guided the _Tracker_ to the end of the queue of ships heading towards the glowing city-planet. With as much traffic as the planet saw, order was necessary to avoid collisions. Hence it would take them nearly an hour to land. Elle transmitted the _Tracker's_ SBI codes and their requested landing quadrant, then rose.

Jarel, in the copilot's seat with his feet on the console again—a stance he kept adopting because he knew it annoyed her—looked up at her in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"To shower," Elle answered shortly. "R4 can bring us in. Trust me, I'll be back before it's our turn to land."

"Want company?" he called rakishly over his shoulder, something Elle had decided he did out of boredom.

"Ha!" she snorted in derision as she skipped down the gangway. She _did_ like company when she showered, but she had someone else in mind. Elle was in a good mood. They had made good time and were a little early for her dinner date. She didn't have to see Ilko for another half rotation which meant she was looking forward to an entire evening spent alone with Marek. _Alone_. She could already feel heat gathering low in her belly, imagining his hands on her again. It had been so long, and with Jarel on board, her frustration had doubled in the past week. Letting off some stress would surely help with the unrelenting crick in her neck.

From her private wrist comm, she pinged Marek's personal comm to let him know that they had arrived at the city-planet and were in queue. She allowed herself the luxury of a short hot shower. The _Tracker's_ tanks were low but she intended to resupply before they left again. Then she had the joy of actually leaving her long hair loose instead of just braiding it up like she always seemed to. Even though in her day-to-day life it might have been easier just to cut it short, she left it long for rare occasions like these. She knew Marek liked it long, he liked to tangle his fingers in it, grip a fistful and pull her head back, exposing her neck to his lips and teeth... She felt a shiver of anticipation in her belly. Elle hummed happily under her breath as she applied just a touch of make up to her eyes, and then almost danced back to her quarters to pull on the outfit she'd decided on, a dark shirt that was transparent in _all_ the right places and matching tight pants.

Right about then, R4 informed her over the ship wide comm that it was almost their turn to land. "Coming!"

Joelle hurried back up the gangway to the cockpit and smoothly slid back into her seat, taking over from the astromech droid again.

The clone still stared out the window, moody and bored, apparently not having moved since she had left. "I don't remember landing on Coruscant ever taking this kriffing _long_ before," he complained, crossing his left ankle over his right.

"Well, not everyone gets the privileges of the GAR," she said with disdain, waving a hand across his field of vision to indicate a cruiser that had just emerged from hyperspace far closer to the planet than civilians were allowed, cutting the queue and being allowed to immediately descend to the clone barracks. Then she shoved his feet aside so she could reach the controls. Even his foul mood wouldn't upset her tonight.

The clone opened his mouth, no doubt to yell at her, then he turned and _saw_ her.

Joelle felt a distinct pleasure in watching his eyes widen in surprise, noting how his gaze roamed over her, down then up then down again, while his eyes dilated turning dark with lust for her, then she turned forward again, smug. She had no intentions of seducing him, of course; she was with Marek, but she never minded when a man realized how attractive she was. Due to her work she didn't get to dress up often. It was nice to know she could provoke such a reaction from him, and perhaps make him eat a few of the words he'd said over the past week.

"Shoe on the other side of your mouth?" she asked Jarel innocently and _oh_ , it felt so good to give him a taste of his own medicine.

He checked himself, and his face hardened in anger. "And where the kriff are you going?" he demanded, though there was little question in his tone. They both knew _exactly_ where she was going.

"Out," she answered, as cheerful as it was vague as they broke out of the queue and headed down, following the flight plan Coruscant Control had sent the Nav computer.

"To see _Marek_?" His spiteful tone told her what he thought of that plan. Elle frowned. Why did his judgment annoy her so much?

"Jealous?" she returned, hiding her discomfiture. They glided down through the first cloud layer and she expertly curved the ship around a skyscraper. She loved flying like this, slow and steady and smooth, feeling how the ship gracefully split the atmosphere, trailing clouds.

"We have a _fragging bargain_ ," Jarel snapped, surprising Elle with his sudden vehemence. " _I_ helped _you_ on Ord Mantell, now you're _supposed_ to be finding Majel, not screwing some di'kut scum like a _fragging tailhead schutta!"_ By the end of his sentence, his voice had risen to a roar as he spun his chair to face her.

Apparently he _could_ ruin her good mood. Insulted, anger flared in Elle. "Just because you're a frinking space ape anxious to get back to your rodder girlfriend _does not_ mean you get to judge me," she snapped back, pointing her index finger sharply at him. "I _shouldn't_ even be trying to help you find this 'Majel'! I _should_ be turning you over to the authorities for possible assault of a teenaged girl—she's not even of legal age! But _instead_ I'm letting you stay on my ship and I've decided to help you because so many other frinking lives are at stake. My personal life is _none of your business_ ," she hissed. "My meeting with Ilko isn't even for twelve hours! We'll be off Coruscant again _tomorrow!_ "

"That's twelve fragging hours _you could spend working!_ " he snarled back at her, pushing himself half out of his seat. She had to turn the ship to the right again, so Elle purposely jerked the controls, sending him falling back into the seat. Jarel fumbled to grab the armrest with gritted teeth and pushed himself back into her face. "I am not just going to sit here and wait while you run around with that bishwag barve!"

"Oh, _switch off_ , Jarel!" Elle demanded, rolling her eyes as she spotted their landing pad and eased back on the throttle, slowing their descent. "You're just frinking jealous because _I've got a partner to screw_ , and you're just clone slime who nobody looks twice at. And I don't blame them, why put up with your astral personality with there's _two million other options!"_

He didn't bother with a verbal reply; the clone just lunged for her with an angry yell.

The ship pitched dangerously to port when her hands left the controls as he grabbed her by the shoulders, a proximity alarm beginning to scream in warning. R4 beeped in alarm as well, hurrying to snatch control of the ship again. Jarel bodily lifted her out of the pilot's seat and slammed her back against the wall of the cockpit hard enough to elicit a pained cry. She knew her shoulders would be bruised. " _Don't. Fragging. Call me that!_ " he hissed through clenched teeth, livid, his eyes frighteningly dark with anger.

Joelle was too furious herself, now that he was threatening her ship and she was in pain, to be intimidated. "It's what you karking are, _clone!_ " she hissed back, and went on the offensive herself. She was smaller than him, weaker than him. But Elle had been trained to fight larger, stronger assailants, and she'd had ample opportunities before to practice. It was second nature now as she brought her hands up to his and dug her fingernails into the webbing between his fingers, pinching as hard as she could and clawing at his hands. Simultaneously she lifted her legs and began kicking him, aiming for his ribs, his instep, his knees, anywhere that she knew would hurt.

Jarel flinched back almost instantly, not as protected by his plastoid armor as he was accustomed to, the sudden pain breaking through his anger. His grip on her slackened a little and Elle aimed a knee right for his jaw; she didn't have enough space to use her full strength but his head snapped back as his teeth came together with an audible _click._ He gave a grunt and jerked back a step. She got one foot braced against his shoulder and shoved him away from her, hearing her shirt tear as she broke free, dropping to her feet again. R4 twittered and she grabbed the back of the pilot's chair as the droid rocked the ship.

Jarel was thrown off balance by the ship's abrupt movement and stumbled back into the opposite wall of the cockpit. He quickly recovered and came charging back at her, hands open to grab her again. The woman immediately dropped to the floor under his grasping arms, but then launched herself right back up, driving her head straight into his solar plexus. This time her blow stunned him as all the air was driven from his lungs, and she shoved him away from her, sending him stumbling backwards across the cockpit again until he fell to the floor. He had no breath for words but he glared daggers at her as he gasped.

She was breathing hard, hands clenched into fists but she glared right back at him even as she turned to face the console again. R4 had circled the ship and brought them back to the landing platform; it only took Elle a minute to initiate the landing sequence and gently set the ship down, patting the droid's head gratefully. Then she began flipping switches, powering down the ship.

"You're leaving me _alone_ on the ship?" Jarel had finally drawn a breath, though the sentence was more of a gasp, falling back on her earlier admitted fears of him stealing the _Tracker_.

"Yep," she confirmed dryly. "And I've installed a kill switch, so now you can't steal her. She won't power back up without the correct sequence. And someone has to remember to feed Onaheim, anyway. I'll go and leave some food for him out on the counter in the galley. "

He grunted again as he pushed himself half upright, leaning on the wall. "Kriffing barvy harpy."

"Just want to make sure my bird is still here when I get back," Joelle practically sang, tone dripping aggravation, as the _Tracker's_ engines quieted to a fading whine and the lights around the cockpit began to dim. The ship was powered down, but she had left systems like the internal comms and life support and heating active. Finished, she turned around and headed down the gangway, careful not to get within striking distance of any of Jarel's limbs as she passed the clone. In the galley, she quickly piled a few packets of dry rations on the counter with a bottle of water.

Walking back out of the galley and into the lounge, heading for the loading ramp, Joelle finally heard the cockpit door slide open, Jarel's footsteps slow and heavy on the gangway behind her. So he'd finally found his feet again.

"Seriously, remember to feed Onaheim!" Elle called cheerfully over her shoulder as she crossed the lounge to open the ramp. Snagging a light jacket she had left over the bench seat, she pulled it over her shoulders as she waited for the loading ramp to descend. "Good night!" Then she walked off into the dusk.

Checking her commlink, she saw Marek had sent her the name and location of the diner for their dinner. Hailing a taxi, she gave the coordinates to the droid and stared at the buildings as they raced by in the space lanes. Joelle grimaced as she turned her head; already she could feel soreness in her shoulders when she leaned back in the padded seat and stiffness in her neck. Her fingers rubbed her temples; she'd given herself a headache. She was going to pay for that stunt in pain tomorrow. But she didn't want to think about Jarel or work anymore tonight. She only wanted to think about Marek. Frowning, she studied the ripped sleeve of her shirt, and then ripped it the rest of the way off, so it at least looked mostly normal.

The diner wasn't as nice as she was expecting after not seeing him for a year, and she was perhaps a little overdressed, and he was only in his RI uniform still as if he hadn't bothered to shower and change before meeting her after work.

But as soon as she saw him she forgot all about that, and hurried up to him with a large grin. "Marek!"

He put down the bottle he was nursing and offered her a small smile. "Heya Elle. Pull up a stool," he said, and turned his attention back to the boloball game playing on several screens around the diner.

* * *

 _AN: I hope that was worth all the re-posting. I would love to hear any thoughts on this chapter, good or bad. I must say, I really enjoyed using all the_ Star Wars _slang I could find. Since chapter 8 will now be the original ending of 7, it should be up shortly._


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: This was originally part of chapter 7, but since I have rewritten that chapter and added a ton of words, this has been made it's own chapter. There aren't as many changes to this half._

 _Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it isn't mine. I'd like to call Joelle Karlsen and CT-4629/Jarel mine, though._

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

 _Galactic City, Coruscant,_ _4 months after the start of the Clone War_

Jarel was bored before Joelle had been gone fifteen minutes.

He had watched her leave with a grimace from the top of the loading ramp, immensely annoyed she was actually going to see that rude barve, and leaving him here to wait for her like some pet. His anger still simmered; he ought to go and crush that kriffing datarod, but the logical part of him knew that if he did she'd leave him on Coruscant to fend for himself, and if that happened he'd be picked up within days as a deserter and shipped back to Kamino. As she had pointed out, his face was pretty common around the Core these days. His chin was smarting where she'd kneed him, and he rubbed it absentmindedly with a knuckle, willing the sensation to fade. His other hand was splayed over his belly. That hadn't been the worst hit he had ever taken; it wasn't the pain that had kept him down but the inability to breathe. There had been a lot of force behind it and without his armor, he was sure it would bruise. Darkly.

When he walked back into the ship, it immediately felt too quiet. Whether that was due to the silence of the engines now that they were powered down or Elle's vacancy, he didn't know, but he didn't like it and his scowl deepened.

With nothing else to do, Jarel walked back up to the cockpit, looking around at the dark controls and ignoring R4's warning chirp as he settled himself gingerly back in the copilot's chair. Really, he wasn't about to try to take the _Tracker_ without Elle, even with his anger still as hot as it currently burned. He thought he possibly could; while he wasn't a pilot, he had all sorts of flash training, but he wasn't a very experienced pilot or mechanic, and having her help—and credits—made his search easier. And if he stole it, she would undoubtedly report him, and they would hunt him down as a deserter. That also led only back to Kamino.

Instead he stared out the viewport for a few minutes, watching the traffic zip past in the space lanes, jealousy filling him. Civilians were free to go anywhere they could pay to, see and love whoever they wanted to, stay on whatever planet they wanted to. The few times he had been on Coruscant or any other civilized planet before, his free time was spent in the barracks, with his brothers to talk to. In short, now Jarel had no idea what to do with himself.

He did take the food packets Elle had left to Onaheim. For a few minutes he entertained himself with teasing the creature, dangling one packet through the bars only to snatch it back when the Rodian reached for it, but the Rodian soon stopped playing along and just flinched back and refused to move until he left, and that wasn't very much fun. Jarel dropped the packets inside the cage in disgust, spilling the contents, gave the bars a hard kick for good measure, and left.

The clone did several laps around the landing pad to stretch his legs, both walking and running, breathing in the cool air as night fell, trying to work out his angry tension. The air wasn't as fresh as it had been on Ord Mantell, though. There was an undertone of machinery to Coruscant's air, mixed with heat and the exhaust from the speeders that burned his nose slightly. He'd been raised on Kamino, where the rains kept everything smelling fresh and pleasant. That was the one thing he missed about that kriffing planet. Disgusted, and still full of angry energy, he retreated back to the lounge to see if he could find anything on the holonet to watch—she'd shown him how to use that not long after they'd landed on Ord Mantell—while he cleaned his blaster pistols, trying not to think about what Joelle was doing and how quiet the ship was.

Unfortunately the man knew _exactly_ what Joelle was doing, and that made it all the harder to forget about her. She was right, of course, at least in her accusation of him being jealous that she had a partner when he did not. Her other words burned in his soul: _clone slime. Kriff_ , he hadn't exactly asked to be born the way he was, but he didn't have a choice in the matter. This was his life, even shortened drastically, and he was just doing his best to get whatever enjoyment out of it that he could, except that people kept getting in the way. He still felt like there was a ticking clock counting down, and he reminded himself that he needed patience. He couldn't afford any mistakes on such a short deadline, or he could be too late, and it was possible he had just made a big one. You didn't attack your commanding officer, that was one of their first lessons. _Stoopa_. He'd not only attacked her, but surely caused her pain; it was entirely possible that when she returned, it would be with a squad of troops sent to court martial him. Kamino. Reconditioning. Kriff, how could he be so _stoopa!_ Jarel berated himself. His personal feelings on the matter not withstanding, Jarel grudgingly admitted that he needed Elle's help. And that meant he had to remember to keep his anger in check.

He also grudgingly admitted that she had decent fighting skills.

XXXXX

Elle knew immediately upon waking that she wasn't in her narrow bunk on the _Tracker_ because her limbs were sprawled far too wide, but remembering where she was took a moment.

Then she recalled her evening with Marek and her lips curved into a soft smile as she slid a hand out, searching for him. This was her favorite part, waking up after a night spent making love to lie in his arms for a while, talking in murmurs. She loved the sound of his rough morning voice. It was usually easy to tempt him into another round before they had to leave for work, and remembering how good his tongue laving her nipples had felt and how he'd gripped her hip hard to steady her as he had thrust into her made her eager to get her hands on him again.

But _where was he?_

Frustrated her lover wasn't in easy reach, Elle begrudgingly opened her eyes to look for Marek, and frowned when she realized he wasn't in the bed, or even the room. She sat up, annoyed at having to set her feet on the cool floor, found his discarded shirt from last night and pulled it on, and went in search of him.

She heard his voice first, coming from the kitchen, and smiled, but when his words reached her she paused to listen.

"I know, and I'm sorry, honey. I had to work late last night. I'll take you to lunch later today, alright? I have to go back to work now."

Elle held still for a moment as her heart plummeted into her belly, her suspicions aroused. She waited a moment, until she was sure he had turned off the comlink, and had regained her composure, and then stepped around the corner. "Good morning," she purred, giving him a wide smile as she walked up to him.

He was already fully dressed in his pressed RI uniform, and did indeed look as if he was about to leave for work. "Oh good, you're finally up," he said.

"I came to tempt you back to bed," she said, pressing herself against his back and wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug.

"Not today, Elle. Duty calls." He turned around to face her, subtly pushing her back a step, the connotations of creating distance not lost on Elle. She let her hands run up to his shoulders.

"Aww. Will I see you again before I leave tomorrow?" she asked, voice hopeful and happy but her heart sinking. "I have a meeting this morning with Ilko, but then I should be free by your lunch break," she suggested slyly.

"'Fraid not. I have to work late tonight, and I don't think I'll even get a lunch break today," he informed her nonchalantly—and confirming her suspicions. "I gotta go, Elle. Show yourself out when you're ready?"

"Do I at least get a kiss?" she asked, now letting some exasperation show.

He beamed at her and leaned down to give her a quick peck on the lips that was in no way satisfying. "Nice to see you again, Elle," Marek called over his shoulder as he walked away.

"Nice to see you too," she muttered after the door had closed, realizing now that it would be the last time.

Joelle used the shower in Marek's apartment, indulging. The steaming hot water felt wonderful, especially over her sore muscles. Her neck was terribly stiff and she took some time to stretch under the hot water, letting the heat work into her muscles. The memory of her fight with Jarel last night came back full force and she sighed at the thought of having to deal with the clone again. Dragging her wet hair into a knot, she twisted carefully in front of the mirror, observing a line of black and blue bruising spreading across her shoulder blades and grimaced. The durned clone was frinking _strong_. Pulling her clothes back on, Elle left without a backward glance.

XXXXX

Jarel spent a restless night, his anger and worry translating to dark dreams, waking every time he heard some sound that might be Elle's return, and still not sure why he cared. He finally gave up when his usual alarm beeped. The clone stepped out of his room and into the fresher to shower. When he left again, he glanced at Elle's door, but there was no indication whether she was behind it or not. He grimaced in distaste and went to dig up something to eat. Now that they had supplies again, at least that wasn't too difficult; after their first meal together she'd bought things that were easy to prepare. He liked it best when Elle cooked something; he'd never had lessons in preparing food. Either he'd been served something in the mess on Kamino or the cruisers, or he'd been given field rations, which required no preparation.

He was trying to figure out why the percolator wouldn't start when he heard the loading ramp descending. Walking out into the lounge, Jarel was witness a bedraggled Elle walking inside, wearing the same clothes she had left in. _Kriff. She'd been gone all night._ He wished he didn't know what that meant, but he did. All too well. His jealous anger spiked again, and he firmly reminded himself to control it. His body tensed for a moment, nervous to discover if she'd brought anyone to arrest him, and then relaxed when she paused to close the loading ramp, and no one had appeared behind her.

He couldn't resist goading her, though. The clone let out an appreciative whistle—really, those tight pants looked good on her. "You sure know how to make a connect-disconnect last, don't you?" he said with a smirk. She only gave him a tired, annoyed glance as she walked past him. "And look, ship's still here."

"Not now, Jarel," she said tiredly, and his brow furrowed as he frowned. He watched as she vanished into her cabin, then went back to trying to fix the percolator.

A few minutes later, Elle hurried into the galley, now dressed neatly in her SBI uniform, hair in a precise knot, and quickly set the percolator to rights, to his relief. But then she said nothing, just staring at it as it brewed, chewing on her lower lip. The silence seemed to fill the small space, making him fidget. Like many soldiers, Jarel was uncomfortable in silence. It was too much like waiting, hiding, not knowing where a bomb was going to land.

"Something on your mind?" he finally queried, leaning on the counter with his arms crossed.

"Nothing you would understand," she snapped back, coming out of her reverie. "I have to go see Ilko, and then we'll take Onaheim to the detention center," she told him, back to business as if nothing had passed between them. She poured the caf before it finished. "You can wear your precious armor again. Shouldn't take long. Be ready in an hour," she ordered, blowing on the caf and trying to sip it.

Jarel couldn't help but feel pleased that her one night stand apparently hadn't gone very well.

* * *

 _AN: The new season of_ Star Wars: Rebels _has started, and as I suspected, it has stolen a bit of my muse back to_ Into the Dark _, but never fear, updates to this story will continue as well. The next chapter is mostly written, and now just needs to be edited._


	9. Chapter 9

_AN: Well this chapter turned into a monster! But I like it. Sorry for the delay, I was travelling and had a very busy two weeks. Now excuse me, I'm off to find myself some chocolate donuts._

 _Disclaimer:_ Star Wars _is definitely not mine! Because if it was,_ all _the clones would be addicted to chocolate donuts._

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

 _Senate Bureau of Intelligence office, Galactic City, Coruscant,_ _4 months after the start of the Clone War_

Walking into Ilko Deminar's office at the SBI headquarters, Elle had never felt more unprepared for a meeting with her boss.

Of course, she had completed her mission on Ord Mantell perfectly, and without blowing her cover, so returning to the planet for future missions was no problem. She was happy about that, Elle liked Ord Mantell, and there were a couple people she considered friends there. And Ilko had already given her a dressing down for her detour to Muunilinst; she had nothing to fear there either.

But she knew he was going to ask about CT-4629.

Her face contorted in a grimace at the thought of the clone as she climbed the steps into the SBI building. That durned clone was _nothing_ but trouble. He had turned her comfy home into a prison, and despite the ease of her most recent mission, she had never felt more exhausted. She'd always felt safe on her ship, but something about Jarel made her uneasy and her sleep restless. She didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. He had access to her ship and contacts now, and he had made his disdain for her perfectly obvious. If he felt he had no need for her, she wouldn't put it past him to try to space her. The way he had lunged for her last night removed all doubt of that from Elle's mind. For the first time, Joelle locked her cabin door and slept with a blaster under her pillow.

And he practically _ate_ credits. Between here and Ord Mantell, she'd stopped at Palanhi to buy groceries. The clone had simply shrugged when she asked what he liked, so she had just gotten her usual fare, but _more_ of it. In fact, she had bought what she considered to be quite a lot, but Jarel could compete with a nexu when it came to size of appetite. He had shrugged and muttered something about "the aiwha-bait messed with our metabolism" when she'd asked him how he was still eating. So now she needed to buy _more_ foodstuffs before they left Coruscant, and she was immensely curious as to how the entire Republic wasn't going bankrupt from just keeping their army fed.

He had even complained about the _Tracker's_ temperature so repeatedly that she had grumpily turned it down just to save herself a splitting headache, and now her feet were always cold, which also made sleeping difficult.

 _And then_ there had been the fiasco when she'd turned on some music and forgotten that she had the speakers set to play over the ship's internal comm. Jarel was not a fan of music, apparently. He'd dented the frinking bulkhead, blast him.

It wasn't really her fault, she was too used to living alone. The second day on Ord Mantell, she'd finally gotten embarrassed enough by the mess in her cabin and the galley that she'd gone on the largest cleaning spree she'd done in over a year. The mess in the galley he had seen the first night, of course, but it was when he'd passed by her cabin and given it a scathing look to rival her mother's that had truly embarrassed her into cleaning up her personal space too. Really, she didn't know why his opinion mattered to her, but she supposed it _was_ past time to clean. Even if it really wasn't that bad to start with. Elle supposed his obsession with neatness wasn't his fault; he was bred and taught to be a soldier, after all.

Then there was the argument last night that had escalated into a full force wrestling match surprisingly quickly.

This, on top of her unsatisfactory rendezvous with Marek, left Elle feeling very chagrined and irked.

And they had only been traveling together for less than a week. She _needed_ to get him off her ship, as badly as she needed the information he carried in the datarod. Last night, she'd been of the mind to kick him off her ship and go about finding the data the hard way, but this morning, with a cooler head, she had grudgingly admitted that she need to keep him around. Elle made a mental note to take him to the immigration office to see her Wroonian friend Cam as soon as they dropped off Onaheim. For a fee, Cam was very good at finding people, even if they didn't want to be found.

But first, she had to get through Ilko, and Ilko was smart. He could read body language; he'd been a field agent himself, and right now hers was screaming annoyance and bruised pride, and if he caught a whiff of her physical bruises... As much as she hated sharing space with the clone, she still needed Jarel, and she needed Ilko to not be suspicious, or he would reassign the clone. He was too much like an older brother or father to her, with a protective streak.

And on top of all of that were her new revelations about her relationship with Marek, and a set of emotions to sort through which for the moment she had simply pushed out of her mind. She had too many things going on right now to worry about the RI agent. Elle really didn't have it in her to play any manipulative games today, and her body language was going to convey that too. She steeled herself as she finally reached Ilko's floor of the building and strode towards his office door.

Ilko's secretary, Jenny, smiled at her and waved her to go straight into Ilko's office. The woman knew Elle; when she had more time before the war broke out Elle liked to stop and talk to the red head, but today she was short on time, so a smile would have to suffice. The secretary seemed busier than usual too, talking on a comm call. Elle put every effort into walking confidently. Stepping into Ilko's office, she saw the man was busy typing, but he stopped when he saw her. "Hello, Elle. Take a seat."

"Morning, sir," Elle returned, moving forward briskly to sit in the chair before his desk, though she kept her back ramrod straight, to avoid leaning back against her sore shoulders. A grimace of pain was sure to make Ilko suspicious. She slid a datarod out of her pocket, set it on the desk in front of him. "Onaheim had this on him. It shows it was copied only once, which is the copy he sold to me," she began her report.

"You sound annoyed," Ilko commented as he reached out and slid it towards him, wishing her to elaborate.

"That Rodian is _completely_ incompetent," Elle told him, aghast. "I was on Ord Mantell less than three days. I find it ridiculous to believe he was able to get that information himself."

Ilko was nodding before she finished. "I agree. I've already assigned an agent to the case here, but until the accomplice makes another move, it's a waiting game." Elle subsided in resigned understanding. "Tell me about your other assignments," Ilko continued, and Elle began her report.

At any given time there were a dozen people she was watching or trying to track down, and everyday she fielded reports in her dropbox from contacts in a dozen systems. She wouldn't call them friends, you didn't pay your friends for their help. Giving Ilko a summary of them all took over an hour. Her boss listened patiently, mostly in silence, taking notes with a stylus on a datapad, occasionally asking for clarification on something. Elle sent him reports weekly, sometimes even daily, but she knew from experience that Ilko preferred to hear it verbally as well whenever they met in person.

"As soon as we're done here, I'd like to head to Socorro. That's where the newest report of weapon sales came from and I'd like to check it out before the trail gets too cold. We'll take Onaheim to the detention center as soon as I get back to the _Tracker_ ," Elle concluded her report with her request.

Ilko nodded, still scribbling notes on the datapad. "Sounds fine, Elle," he replied, slightly distracted. Then he set down the datapad, folded his hands on his desk, and met her eyes. "How is this 'we' going, anyway?"

 _Droyk,_ she had _almost_ gotten out of the meeting without him probing, and tried to hide her worry in her body language, immediately willing her tense shoulders to relax. _Best tell him as much of the truth as possible._ "It's fine, sir. There's always an adjustment period when learning to live with someone new. And…is there any way I can get a stipend? He could eat a bantha in a single meal." She let her face contort into a genuine grimace at the thought of the bill.

Ilko chuckled. "I've heard that from many sources. I don't know, Elle. I'll do my best, but funds are scarce right now." He rubbed his hands over his face. "This damn war," he muttered.

"I agree, sir," she responded gently, internally letting out a breath as the conversation seemingly moved away from her clone partner. "And I understand. Is there anything else? I won't take up anymore of your time."

"Yes," he answered bluntly, dropping her hands and looking at her again, this time almost accusingly. "You're overdue for a vacation."

"But so many reports pile up," she protested with another grimace.

"Elle, a break is good for everyone. I know you haven't been home in years, and I know about you and your mother. Don't you want to resolve that?"

"Are the psychs bothering you about my profiles again?" Elle changed the subject quickly, irked.

"Maybe. But I'm also a friend who is concerned. You can leave your new partner on Coruscant for a few days if you don't want to take him home with you. Plenty of room in the barracks." He was making it as easy as possible for her to get away from her job.

"No, I'm fine," Elle said quickly, firmly. Then she relented. "Thank you, Ilko."

It was his turn to give a resigned sigh, but she had apparently won again because he changed the subject. "There's a formal dinner event for the senators in about four weeks. Joint with RI. I expect you to be back on Coruscant for that. We'll have this discussion again then," he told her sternly. It was a game they played continuously.

"Thank you, sir," Elle said as she stood, relief flooding through her.

"And Elle?" Ilko was already pulling a different stack of flimsies across his desk, but he paused to look her dead in the eyes. "I know you don't want to _now_ , but eventually you _will_ tell me why _this_ clone," he said firmly, and Elle knew that yes, eventually she would. In truth, she only won arguments because he let her win. She knew that, and she was grateful to him. When Ilko wanted something to happen, it happened.

Elle pressed her lips tightly together and nodded. Ilko gave her a single nod and went back to work. She knew she would tell him about Jarel; she'd planned on it. He wouldn't be happy that she had let herself get blackmailed, but by then it shouldn't matter anymore.

XXXXX

When she got back to the _Tracker_ , Jarel was indeed encased in plastoid again, his helmet clipped to his belt, pistol in his thigh holster. He met her at the top of the loading ramp, cracking his knuckles, not quite smiling, but his face radiated eagerness. Her gaze flickered over him as she climbed up the ramp. Elle had to admit, he looked dangerous and striking in his armor, prepared yet comfortable, and more than slightly dangerous. There was more confidence in his body language that said he was more comfortable in armor than out, and he wore it like a second skin. He looked _good_ in that armor, and she let herself admire the lines of his body for a moment. And she had already had a glimpse under it too, thanks to that black body suit. For a split second, she imagined all that hard muscle pinning her up against the wall in her cabin, his hands tearing her clothes off of her, but she quickly shot down that thought, shaking it out of her head. On the heels of her revelations about Marek, she didn't need any more complications in her life right now. He had more muscle on his body than Marek did, she mused, though she thought Jarel was a hair shorter. Not that it mattered, both men were at least a head taller than her.

If he'd been wearing that armor when he'd attacked her, the outcome would have been very different. That reminded her of another thing they needed to do before they left Coruscant.

"Ready?" he asked eagerly as Elle paused beside him to close the loading ramp. For some reason he reminded her of a large, excited kid for a moment and her lips curved up in a small smile.

"It's just a short flight to the detention center," she told him, heading for the cockpit. He dropped into the copilot's seat with far too much familiarity for her liking, and once again propped a foot up on the console. She pressed her lips together in determination not to say anything, knowing he was trying to annoy her. What he didn't count on was her patience; she'd grown up with three brothers, after all. They were silent as the ship lifted off and Elle followed the traffic lanes. She stole a glance at him a minute later and realized he was watching her. "What?"

"I like the clothes you wore last night better," he said bluntly.

She rolled her eyes and sent him a look that told him exactly how annoyed she was by his immaturity. "Go get Onaheim moving while I land," she ordered, annoyed, stabbing a finger towards the exit to the cockpit. She swore the clone chuckled as he rose, subtly pulling his shoulders back and puffing out his chest, and she pressed her lips together and made a show of _not_ looking at him. Elle muttered under her breath about _kriffing men_ the rest of the time she flew, in between getting clearance from the prison tower to dock the _Tracker_. She walked back to see Jarel, helmet now on his head, walking to the ramp with Onaheim, giving the Rodian a few extra shoves. She made sure she had his transfer instructions from Ilko and the datarod with a record of his crimes, then she lowered the ramp.

The delivery officer was already waiting, two clone troopers on his heels, painted in matching red armor. Elle jogged lightly down the ramp, waving for Jarel to follow with her free hand. She heard his solid footsteps behind her.

Handing the Rodian over took all of a minute. Elle gave the deck officer the transfer instructions and datarod; the other two troopers walked forward and took Onaheim from Jarel and marched him away. Elle led Jarel back into the ship.

"That's all?" the clone asked, tone hinting disappointment.

"No, there's another stop I want to make," she called back, already walking to the cockpit. "Close the ramp and come on."

XXXXX

The flight to the Immigration Center did not take more than a quarter of an hour, and then Elle was leading Jarel down the ramp once again. As always, the place was crowded, even more so now that the war raged. People were sitting everywhere there was space, families and friends clung together, clutching packages and children. Refugees were flooding in from everywhere, desperate for the security that the Core worlds provided. Seeing families huddled with children were the hardest for Elle, and she mused that maybe she _should_ go visit Corellia, and her eldest brother's four children. The clone followed close behind Elle as she waded through the crowd of myriad species, stepping over arms and legs and lekku and various other appendages and luggage. She reached a door in the corner marked "Staff Only" and knocked.

"What is this place?" Jarel asked as he stopped right behind her.

"One of Coruscant's many immigration offices," she answered, waving her SBI identification badge at a security holocam on the ceiling to attract their attention. The door finally slid open. "I have a contact who works here. If your friend left Tirahnn, Cam will be able to find her."

"But this is Coruscant—" he started to protest, confused.

"The Republic's capital and always in contact with other planets to check if records are faked or not," Elle cut him off. " _Trust me,_ if Majel left Tirahnn, Cam will find out. And she'll find out where she went. Even if she _hasn't_ left Tirahnn, Cam might still be able to find her."

That quieted him down. Jarel followed along, silent except for his boots, through rows and rows of cubicles. Voices buzzed here, quietly, the sounds of people working, some on comm calls and some just chatting to pass the time. Finally, Elle stepped into one after a quiet knock on the door. Jarel couldn't see anything different between this one and the ones beside it.

The woman inside—Wroonian—was talking on a comm call, but when she saw Elle she ended it quickly. "Hello, Elle," she said, running a hand through her ink black hair and settling attentively at her desk. For a split second, Jarel paused, because the woman was _beautiful_. Despite having blue skin, she was human, near as never mind. She was slender and sleek, every inch of her body radiating femininity, from her waves of lustrous black hair to her perfect, thin eyebrows to a slender, pointed chin and perky breasts, down to a flat stomach and long legs. Beneath the safety of his bucket, he let his eyes roam up and down her. But there was something about her body language that also screamed danger to him, a coldness to her eyes that said she could do more than just a desk job, and her gaze passed right over him without even noting his presence. He settled back against the wall and crossed his arms, curious to see what she would tell Elle. "What can I do for you, my favorite customer?"

Elle didn't bother sitting down in the only other chair in the room. She pulled out a datarod and tossed it to her. "Need you to find someone. Majel Vlamingh. Last seen on Tirahnn."

Cam caught it deftly in one manicured hand and slid it into a datapad. "I see, I see. Mmmmm, lots of people leaving Tirahnn lately. If she's one of them, I'll find out, but it will take some time. Lots of people to sort through, and then there's checking to see if all the records are in order. Of course, I know some short cuts, but still." She paused and looked pointedly at Elle. With the barest of sighs, the dark haired woman who was his partner pulled out a credit chit and tossed that to Cam as well. "Check back with me in two weeks. Or I'll let you know if I find something sooner," the Wroonian said with a beaming smile.

Elle thanked her, and shooed Jarel back out the door before her.

"That's it?" Jarel asked again, surprised and disappointed, as they walked side by side back the way they had come.

"Yes, that's it," Elle snapped, annoyed at how much lighter her pockets felt. "Civvie life is _boring_. I told you, finding people takes time. It's largely a waiting game."

Jarel wasn't entirely sure that he believed her yet; but then again all clones came with built in tracers. He didn't fully trust that Elle was telling him the truth yet, but he conceded there were many points of civilian life that he didn't understand yet.

Elle paused on the steps outside the office, wanting to get back to the _Tracker_ and en route to Socorro, but there was something else she knew they needed to do first, before they went back to sharing a confined space together.

Jarel kept walking down four more steps before he realized she had stopped. "Kriff, _now_ what? Are we ever getting off this planet?" he complained, turning around and slowly climbing the steps back to her level.

"Yes," Elle replied, reaching a decision. "But first, _one_ more stop. The last one. I promise." She started off down the stairs again, angling off to the right. "You're going to want to ditch the helmet for this."

Reluctantly, he trailed behind her, pulling his helmet off and carrying it in the crook of his right arm. His longer legs let him keep up with her easily, giving him plenty of time to look around as they walked. There were many people walking along, some in a hurry and some strolling casually, myriad species with myriad reasons for being here. "Where are we going now?"

"Have you ever had a chocolate donut?"

The statement was completely random, and he blinked for a moment. "A what?" he returned, brow furrowing, one eyebrow arcing up.

"A chocolate doughnut!" Elle exclaimed, half turning as she walked so she could meet his gaze. "You know, flaky, golden circular pastry with chocolate icing…?" she trailed off, watching his face for signs of recognition but he continued staring blankly at her. "Really? Never? Well come on then, lucky for you the best place to get some in the galaxy is just around the corner…"

He didn't know what she was talking about, except that he had heard chocolate mentioned while on Tirahnn. But it _sounded_ delicious, so he was curious, though he schooled his face to indifference. No need for Elle to know how interested he was.

They walked down a wide open air walkway, shops lining one side, speeders zipping past in a space lane on the other, full of people and shoppers. He still didn't understand the civilian impulse to buy more things than they could carry with them at all times. Everything important to him was currently hanging off his frame. There were a few restaurants that smelled good, and a few smaller vendors as well. It was one of these that she walked up to.

"Hello, Jondo," Elle greeted as she walked up to the counter of one of the vendors, her smile wide and genuine.

The Devaronian vendor looked up and instantly recognized her. "Elle!" he exclaimed, immediately coming around the counter, brushing past Jarel to scoop Elle up in a hug and spin her around, and Jarel felt a current of envy run through him. Apparently Joelle invited everyone to call her Elle except him. "I hadn't seen you in so long, I thought you must have stopped coming to see me," he exclaimed, his accent stretching out his vowels interestingly.

"Oh, never, Jondo! You know me, I always stop by whenever I'm on Coruscant. This durned war's just been keeping me away," she explained, patting his arm as Jondo set her back on her feet. Except for the horns spouting from his forehead and red-tinted skin, he didn't vary much from a human. He was shorter than Jarel but taller than Elle, and stout, with thick limbs. He picked the woman up with ease.

"Of course, of course, Elle. Now, what can I get for you? The usual?"

"Yep. But I need one for my partner too," she added, nodding her head towards Jarel. The Devaronians' eyes followed her gesture to run down the clone, and he nodded to himself as he turned and stepped back behind his counter. Jarel didn't have a clue how to decipher that look, so he didn't try.

Jondo retrieved two doughnuts, in paper wrapping, and Elle pulled out a credit chit and paid for them. Taking one in each hand, she gestured for Jarel to follow with a jerk of her head and walked a little ways away, to lean on the railing guarding the edge of the walkway and watch the speeder lanes. Eyeing the pastries, he willingly followed her the ten steps.

"Alright, Jarel, look," Elle started when he stopped next to her, clearly thinking hard to find the right words to say. He dragged his eyes away from the chocolate frosting to look at her. "We've established that we don't like each other. But we do need to work together, and that means having at least a little trust in each other. The only rule is this: _don't attack someone while they're flying the ship!"_ She almost shouted the words. She paused for a moment, studying his face, then held one doughnut out to him. "Trooper?"

"Acknowledged," he confirmed, reaching out to take it front her. Elle gave a nod and turned to lean on the railing. She began taking little bites from hers in pleasure.

It wasn't an apology, but they both recognized it for what it was: a peace offering.

Jarel took a sniff of the doughnut and then a tentative bite. "Holy kriff," he breathed around the mouthful melting on his tongue, and proceeded to cram the treat into his mouth as fast as he could.

Joelle turned to look at him and clapped a hand over her own mouth as she chortled, trying to hold back her laughter. Seeing the look of boyish delight on his face melted her heart a bit. Just how old was he? "I know, right? I wouldn't wish a lack of chocolate doughnuts on my worst enemy," she giggled after swallowing. _Well, maybe Marek._ She frowned, watching him lick a dab of chocolate off his gloved thumb. "Jarel, just how old _are_ you?" she dared to ask, not sure if he would answer or not. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

He glanced up and lowered his thumb. "I hear that's a rude question to ask people," he said slowly, leaning his plastoid encased forearms on the railing himself, but eyeing her doughnut instead of the speeders. She caught the look and subtly turned so her precious treat was shielded by her body before he got any funny ideas.

But his comment made her snort in laughter. "It's generally not wise to ask women, no. Especially human women. I heard they used growth acceleration on you."

He shrugged noncommittally. "Give me your doughnut and I'll tell you," he cheekily suggested.

" _Frag_ no!" she exclaimed. "I don't want to know _that_ badly." He actually looked terribly disappointed, which made her laugh again, but she wasn't cruel enough to tease him so she finished hers and started back towards the ship. "You shouldn't have eaten yours so quickly."

* * *

 _AN: Sorry for taking so long to post this chapter, I blame school and the cold weather, mostly. But look, it's double the length of some of the others. Next chapter is shaping up to be my favorite one yet!_


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: Realized I forgot to include the place and time setting at the start of the last three chapters. They've been updated to match the rest._

 _I'm hoping that this chapter marks the halfway point through this story. I have an outline. There will be at least five more chapters, and I'm hoping it will have no more than twenty chapters, but we'll see what happens as I write it. This story is teaching me_ a ton _about writing! I know there's still a few rough points, and there's a few places where I feel like Jarel steps out of character, but I hope you'll forgive those for now. After it's done I intend to come back and edit a few chapters._

 _Disclaimer: I don't own_ Star Wars _._

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

 _Hyperspace, en route to Socorro,_ _4 months after the start of the Clone War_

It was three days to Socorro along the Corellian Run and then past Christophsis, Joelle estimated. Aboard the _Tracker_ , inputting the coordinates and sending a departure flight plan to Coruscant Control, the Nav computer confirmed the time: 3 days, 8 hours, 37 minutes. After returning from the Immigration Center, Elle hadn't bothered to change into more comfortable clothes than her stiff, official SBI uniform. She wanted to get underway first, then she would have _plenty_ of time to change, but while she waited for her flight plan to be accepted and confirmed, she reached up and unpinned the tight coil of hair at the top of her head, letting the braid fall loose. It was only slightly more comfortable than the tight knot.

She considered their route on the screen. Normally, whenever she had an excuse to go to the Mid or Outer Rim via the Corellian Run or Trade Spire, she managed to stop at Corellia once on the way back to the Core. But a lot changed in a year, she thought with a quiet sigh. Her mother no longer wanted visits from her only daughter, and while her brothers were always accepting, she could just _imagine_ bringing Jarel around. There'd be a fistfight before they'd been there an hour.

Behind her, the cockpit door hissed as it slid open, and Jarel joined her in the cockpit for take-off. The clone had done the opposite, going straight into the crew quarters when they had returned and stripping off the plastoid plates of his armor. In between trying slightly different courses in the Nav computer, Elle glanced at him, settling in the co-pilot's seat beside her, though this time he left both feet on the ground, leaning his forearms on his knees as he squinted out the viewport. Since she'd given him civilian clothes, they were all he wore. She'd shown him how to launder them; as far as she was concerned, they were his and his problem now. Today he'd chosen a loose green shirt and black trousers.

She had never confirmed it aloud, but he had been right in his assumption that they had once been Marek's clothes. Most of them, she had bought for him. He'd discarded them as easily as he had discarded everything else born from their six week partnership. The first time Jarel had donned them, her memories had slapped her in the face and she'd _almost_ regretted giving them to Jarel. But now the painful twinges of memory had almost completely faded. They were Jarel's now.

The Nav computer chirped as her flight plan was accepted and it flashed to green on the screen, along with a time limit, bringing her out of her thoughts. If she didn't clear the city in that time, she'd have to start over. Elle reached for the controls and eased the _Tracker_ off the landing pad and into flight.

XXXXX

Elle was good at keeping herself busy during hyperspace travel. She'd had a lot of practice, especially over the past year, living alone. She spoke to her contacts either directly or via text. She complied data and wrote reports. She had several holocharts and files she updated with relevant data. She cleaned and prepped and reloaded her gear. She tinkered with the _Tracker_ , or R4. She performed aerobics listening to loud music (now in wireless ear buds instead of over the speakers). She watched holovids. She cooked. She cleaned.

The second day into their hyperspace journey, Elle was again working on the Separatist terminal from Muunilinst. It was almost completely decrypted now and the data downloaded, and disappointingly it hadn't held as much as she'd hoped. Most of it was only information that Marek could use, of course. She didn't want to, but she would send it on to him. If she didn't he would just keep calling until she did, and it might be enough to save lives someday. All of it she transferred into zip files to send to Ilko, along with a report she'd written, summarizing her findings. Elle was pleased that she was almost done with the thing. She had plans to wipe it and then use the terminal for something else.

The crew quarters door slid open and Jarel strode out, stalking around the edge of the lounge. Elle, ear buds in, saw him out of the corner of her eye. She barely glanced up anymore. She'd gotten used to his comings and goings, although he spent most of his time in the cramped crew quarters. That was fine with her; the less she saw him the more she could pretend he wasn't here. They had barely spoken over the last two days, except at mealtimes, but they hadn't come to blows again either. The tentative peace she had offered with a doughnut seemed to be holding. She ignored him, watching the lines of code on her datapad closely as she maneuvered a tool around the innards of the terminal.

Then she became aware that he was moving around the lounge with intent as he suddenly strode past her. When she looked up, she discovered him carrying everything that wasn't bolted down to the sides of the lounge, clearing space in the middle. With a mental sigh, Elle straightened up and took out one ear bud, her back stiff from being hunched over.

"Jarel, what are you doing?" Her voice was full of exasperation as she gave him a pointed look over the rim of her visor.

"We should spar," his easy answer surprised her. The clone didn't look at her as he dragged a bin of spare parts for R4 off to one side.

Elle dropped her tools to the table and turned to face him, incredulous. " _What?_ Wasn't last time enough for you?"

The clone shrugged, turning a circle as he checked that he'd cleared sufficient space. "I'm bored, and I need to move. And you've proven to be an...adequate opponent." She arched an eyebrow at the unexpected compliment. "Although your skills are still lacking," he added, and she rolled her eyes. _Of course._

Now she was annoyed, but she pushed it aside and decided to entertain the idea for a few minutes. Hadn't she won their last round? Joelle crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the table. "Make it worth my while." She threw his words from the day they met back at him.

"Alright." He turned towards her, stance easy, feet shoulder width apart, a man completely comfortable with his body and skills. Even here, he still seemed to balance naturally on the balls of his feet, always ready. Every fiber of his being screamed soldier. It was a quality she found attractive. _Blast it_ , he had a lot of qualities she found attractive. She slammed a mental door on that thought. "For every hit you land on me, you can ask a question. And every touch I get on you, _I_ get to ask _you_ a question." His dark eyes watched her face, waiting for her answer.

Elle paused for a moment as she admitted that it was an intriguing idea. She frowned in thought and tilted her head to one side. "How do I know you'll tell the truth?" she asked suspiciously.

"You'll just have to trust me a little bit," he returned her own words to her, deadpan. She stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his mood. He was watching her calmly. Today he wore a pale blue shirt and gray pants, the loosest ones she had given him. He was barefoot, she noted with amusement. But even out of his black bodyglove, he cut an attractive figure. Her eyes were drawn to his lean hips. Well, she was completely single now, so she didn't have to feel guilty for looking anymore.

She _should_ say no. But she was intrigued, her work was almost done, and she _did_ feel like she needed to stretch. "Alright, fine," she agreed, taking off her visor and peeling off her gloves. She unzipped her jacket and took that off too, baring shoulders in a tank top. She turned around to set her things out of the way. She stretched her arms over her head, loosening her muscles, and shook herself before turning to face him again.

They both dropped into ready stances, feet shoulder width apart, knees bent, hands in front. Jarel wasted no time and ran forward two steps to come at her with his right fist; she ducked under his hand and elbowed him in the side as she went past.

"That's one!" Elle exclaimed cheerfully, spinning around to face him, holding up her index finger. "So, then. Who's Majel?" It was the most burning question she had and she'd been wondering since the first day.

"A girl who lived on Tirahnn for a while," he replied almost immediately, but that was all he said.

"I already knew that!" Elle protested, fists on her hips.

"You'll have to remember to keep your questions specific, Elle," he teased, and his face split into the first genuine grin she'd ever seen him make, joy at outfoxing her clear. Suddenly he looked _very_ young. His eyes danced and she realized they weren't as dark as she had thought they were. She paused, annoyance fading, because lit by happiness, his face was suddenly _very_ handsome. It occurred to her that there were many sides of him she hadn't seen yet. He had a sense of humor, she realized. Suddenly he realized what she was staring at and shut down, face hardening again. He had a mask he wore outside of the helmet, too.

"Fine. Who is Majel _to you?_ " she clarified, moving on.

Jarel shrugged. "That's another question," he answered, tone challenging. She dropped into a fighting stance once again and met that challenge.

This time Elle raced forward at him. She was still feeling him out, not sure how serious this would be, how much to hold back—though she doubted she could serious damage to his hard muscles; she'd only hurt him before because her hard head had caught him somewhere vulnerable. She aimed a fist for his side and his forearm easily knocked her hand aside even as his other hand punched at her shoulder. Elle let herself drop and his hand went over her head again; she tucked and rolled forward across the floor to prevent his backhand from catching her. Coming out of her tuck, she spun around to find him already bearing down on her. She brought an elbow up to block but not in time, and his foot collided lightly with her shoulder.

"That's one," Jarel repeated in triumph, taking two steps back to let her get back to her feet. "Who's Marek?"

She gave a sigh, but an agreement was an agreement and she wouldn't lie to him. "He's a Republic Intelligence agent who partnered with me for six weeks last year."

Jarel studied her face, nodded, and then dropped into a crouch again. Elle ran at him again, this time aiming to break his nose. He snatched her hand and twisted her to the side; she snapped a foot up as he spun her around. He took the blow on his shoulder.

"Who's Majel _to you?_ " she blurted out, almost before her foot hit the ground again.

"A girl I met on Tirahnn and slept with a few times until I was assigned to move on to Muunilinst," he answered without skipping a beat. The ease he answered with after he'd resisted telling her minutes ago annoyed her. The clone lunged forward, faster than she could follow, knocked both her blocking arms aside with one hand, and punched her lightly in the gut. Elle grunted as she fell back. _Droyk! Is he holding back!?_ The thought occurred to her, and she didn't hold back quite so much.

"How did you meet Marek?" he asked, fists still held up before him as he circled right. Elle recovered her balance and mirrored him.

"He sought me out," she began to explain, running at him and aiming a flurry of blows at his head, left hand, right hand, left hand. The clone effortlessly blocked her, all without breaking eye contact. She spun away to the left, kicked at his chest with her right foot. He dodged out of the way. "There was a joint social party with RI. He came up to me and introduced himself." She grimaced at the memory. He'd known _exactly_ who she was before he'd come up to her, and he'd known that she had comm access codes that he needed. It'd taken her a week to realize the datarod was missing after he left.

Their fight sped up, building momentum. Buzzing, her heart now pumping, Elle was all too happy to keep it going. They circled for a few minutes, punching and blocking, neither able to land a hit. Jarel had power and stamina on his side; Elle danced around him. Sweat broke out on her forehead and began to trail down her back. It felt good, to move and stretch and feel her heart pound. It felt good to feel her knuckles hit something solid.

Elle kicked at his head; Jarel grabbed her ankle and yanked her off balance. The woman turned her fall into a roll to put distance between them. She came up against the hard couch and used it to push herself to her feet, just in time to bring her arm up to block a blow, while her other hand snapped forward and punched his chin hard enough to snap his head back.

"How old are you?" she remembered her question from yesterday as he stumbled backwards two steps, rubbing his chin.

"Ten," Jarel answered nonchalantly. She straightened with a small gasp and reared back in shock, dropping her hands to her sides.

" _Ten?_ " she repeated incredulously, staring at the grown man in front of her who towered a head over her in height, his body full of hard muscle. She'd known they used growth acceleration, but she hadn't realized it would be so... _extreme_. She herself was twenty-six, and Jarel appeared to be at least her age, if not a tad older. Yet...to have lived twenty-six years in the space of _ten_...that wasn't much life at all. It was almost cut completely in half, and all he'd done in that time was learn a hundred ways to kill another man. Was that why he ate so much? Suddenly many things began to make sense.

He took full advantage of her shock and lunged for her before she was paying full attention again. Elle's eyes widened as she tried to block and side step, but he had boxed her in, pushed her off balance, and after a minute got through her defenses and landed a punch on her cheek, hard enough to send her backwards. It stung, but she could feel it hadn't done any real damge. Revenge for his chin, she decidedly grimly, but he hadn't hit her quite so hard.

"Did you sleep with Marek?"he asked as he backed up a few steps and let her out of the corner.

Joelle blew out an exasperated breath, aiming up to blow her bangs out of her eyes. Her annoyance flooded back in. How did he always manage to annoy her so easily? This was _exactly_ what she didn't want to talk about. "Men! You're all the same," she grumbled. "Yes, I did, Jarel. We lived together for six weeks. Lots of down time to kill." She readied her fists again.

"How many times?" Jarel pressed, still keeping distance between them, hands at his sides.

It was technically another question, but Elle just wanted to get it over with. And prove she wasn't as petty as him. "I don't honestly remember, Jarel, alright? It was _a lot_. I lost count." He smirked at some private thought for a minute, until she ran forward with a series of strikes, not holding back quite as much. She finally managed to kick his knee.

"Why do you want to find Majel?" she asked, still crouched and ready.

"She has something I want," he said vaguely, and Joelle crossed her arms and glared at him.

"That doesn't answer my question!" she protested, straightening indignantly. He shrugged, expression amused. With a scowl, she lunged at him again, fists flying, letting him feel her annoyance. He blocked her just as fast as she attacked, his strong, straight forearms always turning her fists to one side. Usually Elle tried not to get too tangled up with her male opponents, lest he use his greater size to his advantage, but now she stepped in close, pummeling his stomach twice, her foot sliding between his and tangling behind one as he went to step back, and just like that he tripped and crashed down on his back. Elle leaped on top of him, straddling his waist, palms on his chest, and glared down at him in annoyance.

"Well, this is cozy," Jarel drawled, looking up at her with a smirk, not at all unhappy with the situation. His smirk turned devious. "But _I_ prefer to be on top," he informed her, then snatched her shoulders and rolled them over lightning-quick. Her back hit the floor before she realized what he was doing.

Jarel pinned her to the deck, body running the length of hers, and she couldn't help but gasp and stare up at him, eyes wide. _Droyk!_ His body was hard against hers. She could feel _every_ detail of those muscles she had been admiring, and she liked it _a lot_. Elle swallowed hard. Her heart pounded and her mouth suddenly went dry, even as she felt herself growing wet, and she pressed her knees together. Fire ignited in her belly, and she hurried to compose herself and steady her breathing, pushing her arousal down as far as she could go. She searched for something to do with her hands; unable to grab his shoulders to push him off, they ended up settling against his sides.

For an instant, they stared at each other. His eyes were searching her face, watching her with a smirk; she noted that it looked like his nose had been broken before, right at the bridge, and had healed just slightly crooked. His eyes were a warmer shade of brown than she had thought.

"I think I win," he said quietly, voice husky. His breath tickled along her cheek and raised goose flesh on her neck.

She fought hard to keep her voice steady, and leveled her most annoyed glare at him. "Yes. Now _get off_ , Jarel."

He grinned widely. "I would love to, but we'd have to lose the clothes first." One of his hands left her shoulder to run down the side of her body and rest on her hip.

She glowered at him, hoping he didn't feel the shiver his caress caused. "You have the mentality of a teenage boy..." It started out an accusation, then trailed off in realization. _Ten._

He finally released her painstakingly slowly, triumph in his eyes as he slid down her body before sitting up onto his knees and gracefully standing. He offered her a hand but Joelle ignored it, rolling lightly to her feet herself.

"I have to get back to work," she muttered grumpily, stalking past him. But first she needed a shower. A very _cold_ shower.

* * *

 _AN: I think the next two chapters will have a lot of Jarel thinking time. Reviews are loved!_


	11. Chapter 11

_AN: So sorry for the delay! Coming up on the end of a semester, and I was travelling with my family. I did get some more scenes written out en route though. Also, this chapter gave me such a headache. I've rewritten it probably three times now._

 _Let me just remind everyone that this story is rated **Teen**._

 _Disclaimer: Still don't own_ Star Wars.

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

 _Hyperspace, en route to Socorro, on board the_ Tracker _, 5 months after the start of the Clone Wars_

The third and final day of their trip was uneventful. Jarel wasn't sure what Elle was doing; she'd finally finished with the terminal he had found on Muunilinst and stowed it in the cargo bay for safe keeping, then she vanished into the cockpit. He assumed she was preparing for the coming mission.

He'd rounded up some things to eat, since she wasn't looking, and cleaned the galley, then passed the hours in the crew quarters, checking over his blasters and logging notes on his datapad. Hyperspace travel on the _Tracker_ was different than on a Republic cruiser. A ship as large as a Venator-class never _felt_ like being on a ship; the only motion they occasionally felt was a slight shudder whenever it entered hyperspace. Not like the _Tracker,_ where he could feel the wind tugging on the ship as it sailed through the atmosphere, or whenever the dampeners were strained on a sharp curve and he felt some of the G-forces. He found he liked the thrill. A cruiser was constructed much the way the barracks on Kamino, complete with a parade ground. Even in hyperspace and between battles, many times their commander or captain would roll them out for drills. And he was surrounded by brothers.

He'd been surrounded by brothers since the day he decanted; had never imagined being separated from them. Now, it was just him and Joelle. And Jarel liked it. He enjoyed doing what he wanted, when he wanted, like watching a holovid, exploring the holonet on his datapad, modding a gun, eating. It was the choice _when_ and _how_ to do these things that defined freedom, he mused. And the food. Elle claimed she wasn't a very good cook, but he would eat anything on the _Tracker_ over their fare on a cruiser any day.

At first, as active as he was used to being, Jarel had chafed slightly at the quiet undercover work and long hours of doing nothing; he'd only lasted a week before challenging Elle. And now that he'd talked her into sparring once, he looked forward to more matches. She could throw a decent punch, and her style was refreshingly familiar compared to his brothers'. Maybe she didn't quite have his stamina, but she had been trained specifically to fight men like him, even if he felt her technique could improve. It was good for both of them.

Jarel paused skimming his datapad and his lips curved into a half smile as he remembered sparring with her. Seeing Elle stripped down to a tight shirt, skin glistening with sweat, had been _invigorating_. Her figure was fit and slender; it made him ache. He remembered catching sight of her in her sleeping clothes with pleasure. The first few nights, he'd enjoyed imagining different ways to slide them off.

In truth, he spent more time studying his partner than was strictly necessary, but he couldn't resist. His eyes dwelt on the swell of her breasts whenever she walked past; his hands wanted to touch the curve of her waist and tangle in her hair. He'd had a taste of sex before, but instead of sating him, it had only made his body crave more. It had been easy to forget, living with his brothers to occupy him, fighting a war to keep busy, slipping back into a routine he'd lived for 10 years, but living with only Elle, following her about for a week, seeing her from all angles, brought desire coursing hot through his veins. She acutely reminded Jarel that it had been _months_ since his last intimate encounter with Majel.

Their moment from the sparring match hadn't been lost on Jarel. Actually, he'd enjoyed having her straddling him, but the opportunity to finally touch her had been too good to waste. Now he relished the memory. It hadn't been his plan from the beginning, but seeing the opportunity, he'd taken it, and he could still feel the curves of her body flush against his. When he'd pinned her to the floor, he'd felt a good deal of blood head for his groin. Remembering it was almost as good. Jarel shifted and leaned back in his bunk, palming himself through his soft pants. The datapad slid to the floor, forgotten.

His fingers had brushed her soft skin; he'd felt her silky hair brush his knuckles. He'd wanted to take her right there, kiss her until she bruised, let his hands run over her every inch. He hadn't been able to resist running one down her side, and he'd noted her shiver with glee. Her hands had settled on his sides, almost like an embrace, and it had felt like fire. He'd gotten a good glance down her shirt a few times while they had sparred, and he longed to cup her breasts in his hands.

He groaned quietly as his hand slipped inside his pants. He couldn't help it; spending a week staring at a beautiful woman did that to a virile young man. It would be much more fun if he could convince her to join him sometime, but since she was resisting, for now he would take what he could. Jarel didn't exactly like her attitude, but he couldn't ignore the fact that Elle was beautiful. All his life, he'd been denied status as a person, used like a tool by everyone he met; Elle was no different. He had no qualms about using her body for his pleasure in return.

There was a tinny knock on the cabin door, and Elle's muffled voice. "Jarel?"

 _Fierfek!_ He stilled his hand, swallowed hard twice, and hoped his voice wasn't too rough when he answered. Kriff those doors were thin. "What?"

"We'll be coming out of hyperspace in two hours. Come up to the cockpit in a few minutes for a briefing," she called through the door.

"Fine," he acknowledged, hand moving in long, slow strokes to stall for a few moments, hoping she was walking away. Did he have time to finish? Fierfek, he'd _make_ time. He rolled over and remembered the feel of Elle's body against his, thrust quickly into his hand, and tensed as he found release.

XXXXX

Jarel leaped over a plasisteel crate and then slammed his back against it as he landed in a crouch behind it, green blaster bolts narrowly missing him on all sides. Hefting his DC-15—he was dying to use the DC-17, but in these close confines, it wasn't efficient enough—he measured the state of his power pack as drilled into him by practice, simply judging the weight from long practice. Still three-quarters full.

Under his bucket, Jarel grinned.

He was pinned down, but he didn't care. It had been little more than a week since he had last used a blaster, but it felt so much longer. He had been going stir crazy, restless and eager for some action. He was bred and trained to fight, and a body like that stifled during inactivity. These were the sorts of missions he liked, not hanging out at a bar dressed as a civilian on Ord Mantell. His armor fit him like a comfortable, familiar second skin that he had intimately missed.

Apparently, Elle informed him, Republic troops had hit the ground on a backwater planet and discovered that the Separatist-sided locals had somehow been given a fair amount of military grade weapons— _Republic_ bought, no less. It was a worrying problem, especially when a visiting Senator from a neutral planet had been assassinated with one of them. The public would be outraged, not that Jarel cared about that. Then the phenomena had occurred again, on other planets, Separatist militias and local terrorists alike suddenly handling Republic weapons, and even pieces of white plastoid armor—that intimately affronted Jarel; if he ever personally confronted one of them, he intended to let them know how much. Elle's contacts had been gathering information for months and finally tipped her off to the fact that a black market group was collecting the weapons and kit from battlefields after the troops moved on, and that most of it went through a warehouse on Socorro. The same warehouse he was currently in.

Getting into the warehouse hadn't been a problem. They had landed and embarked under the cover of night to hopefully infiltrate undetected: Elle's plan was to find and liberate as many weapons as possible; barring that his secondary objective was to tag any weapons in order to track their movements. Recovering data about who was involved and other possible storehouses was a close third.

Keeping in cover, he began firing back, taking delight in staying calm and coolly dropping any head that poked out. Moments like these, his training kicked in and he would react almost before he made the decision to fire; he felt like a polished machine and he relished in it, even the adrenaline and his pounding heart. Bred to be focused, faster, he out matched the enemy, unused to working together, on every level, and within a few minutes he had cleared out his attackers. He gave the bodies a cursory examination as he made sure he had weeded them all out from hiding, but he saw no clues as to their allegiance; no uniform, no markings. They were a mix of human, Weequay, and a Rodian and various droids. Elle had suspected it might just be pirates looking for an easy payday.

"Clear," he said into the comm, as drilled into him, a bit disappointed it was over so quickly.

The only difference to the other battles he'd fought was the lack of a squad, calm and coordinated, in his ear; there was only Elle's voice, and he kept tuning her out, because she just kept cursing those funny Corellian swears of hers. He'd lost track of her, actually, when the ambush in the warehouse had sprung; he'd gone left and she'd gone right. It was _supposed_ to be deserted, but of course, as he had predicted, no plan lasted past boots hitting dirt. He figured she was to his right and back a bit; that was where he still heard blaster fire echoing from. It stopped a moment after his did.

 _"Clear,"_ Elle repeated. She seemed to be making an effort to use his lingo; Jarel wasn't sure if it amused or annoyed him. _"Any sign of the weapons?"_

"Negative," Jarel drawled, rifle still raised as he continued slowly inspecting his side of the warehouse.

 _"Well, let's try to find them fast,"_ she said quietly. She sounded out of breath.

"Kriffing woman," he muttered under his breath. What the kriff did she think he was doing? He shook his head as he walked, every step deliberate and as quiet as possible, still wary of another ambush. The entire warehouse was full of crates, many abandoned and in various states of disrepair, but the ones they were looking for were very specific. The pirates had actually been a little smart and hidden the crates amid other crates, where they were less likely to draw attention, but weapon crates had a distinctive shape and look to them, especially Republic ones, and Jarel located them a minute later.

He crept quietly up against a stack of abandoned building materials—apparently someone had gotten short-lived delusions of grandeur about fixing the dilapidated warehouse at some point in the distant past—and peeked around it. There were three more guards around the crates they wanted, and he set his eye to his scope and dropped them easily, since they had no cover. Ambling over, Jarel shoved the top off the nearest one with a foot and toggled his comm to Elle again with a blink. "Yep, these are the crates we're looking for," he informed her.

" _Great, I'm on my way,"_ she replied, and sounded relived. Probably that they had the right warehouse. _"Secure them. Then get—"_ but she never finished. Suddenly, she cut off with a grunt. Outside the comm, he heard another blaster shot and a pained yelp.

Jarel froze, his annoyance at her quickly turning to concern. "Elle? _Joelle?_ " he asked into the comm, checked that the line was still open, but received no answer. Swearing, he raced back the way he'd come, throwing out stealth, blaster raised and snapping side to side whenever he rounded a corner. Another yelp came from his left, and he rushed that way, frustrated with the weaving path through the stacks of crates, before glimpsing color and slowing to creep closer.

Elle was down, huddled against a crate. She'd dropped her blaster; her left hand clutched her right shoulder and her back was hunched in pain. A human man, a male Weequay, and three droids were standing over her, drawling in some language Jarel didn't understand, but he didn't need to. His partner was cornered and in pain, that was all he needed to know. He managed to spare a glance at the infrared sensor on his HUD to confirm there were no more pirates hiding elsewhere, barely noting the negative confirmation.

The clone's flash training kicked in, perfected in a thousand simulations. He swept a glance over the scene, noting the positions, then moved. He brought his blaster up one-handed, the other getting his last droid popper from his belt. He tossed it casually towards the nearest droid—an HK-series—firing his blaster at the human man, on his left.

All of them turned, startled, and started to duck as one; even Elle hunched down lower and started to drag herself away. He spun left, balanced on one foot, pressing behind another stack of crates, and heard the droid popper detonate. He whirled out again, vaulting over some low crates for momentum. Two droids were down, incapacitated by the EM pulse, and he'd shot the human in the leg earlier. Firing at the last droid, Jarel lunged for the injured man, slammed his blaster into his gut, then turned to use him as a shield to the droid's shot. Angling his blaster around the dead man, he dropped the droid, and then spun to face the Weequay. The alien had lunged for Elle when Jarel went for the other pirate, to likewise use her as a shield.

But Elle wasn't going quietly: her good left hand had taken hold of his blaster's muzzle, holding it pointed away from her. For a moment, the Weequay wrestled for it with both hands, but she kept dancing out of the way, kicking at him. Jarel hissed; the Weequay couldn't gain control of Elle, but he kept her between him and the clone. He trained his gun on the alien male but he couldn't fire with her in the way.

As Jarel turned to them, dropping his shield, the alien's free hand went for her injured arm instead, seizing it and digging his thumb into her blaster wound. Elle dropped to her knees with a pained cry, struggling to keep the blaster pointed away from her but her fingers were weakening. Her movement finally gave Jarel a clear line of fire.

Three blaster shots from Jarel, and the man's grip slackened and he collapsed.

Elle crumpled to her knees as well, good hand shaking as she went to gingerly touch her wound, now bleeding. Her mouth was tight with pain, her breathing fast and ragged.

Jarel scanned for other targets. Two of the droids were managled; the last he went to and ripped the top of it's head off, grabbing what his flash training indicated should be the memory core. He pocketed it and then crouched in front of her. "Elle?" he asked; her vitals were steady, it certainly wasn't a fatal wound, although there was a growing puddle of blood dripping to the dusty ground. It was certainly painful, though, especially after having sharp fingers digging into it. He felt a strange sense of unease, seeing her in pain, but he shoved the feeling away as unimportant at the moment. He bit down the impulse to tell her to get over it; he and his brothers had been trained to endure pain.

"I'm fine," the dark haired woman bit out through clenched teeth. "Just gimme a minute." Her eyes were closed as she struggled to slow her breathing.

Jarel was getting leery of waiting in one spot for too long; they still had no idea how many pirates there were. "We haven't _got_ a minute," he said as kindly as possible, not entirely sure _why_ he was being kind. He reached back along his belt for his medipac and pulled out one of the single-use loaded painkillers that was a standard part of his kit. "Here," he said, and popped the cap off with his thumb while his other hand snagged her collar and dragged her shirt clear enough to inject the shot into her muscle before she realized what he was doing.

Elle gasped at the new sting, though it faded almost before she registered it. "Droyk!" she hissed, but already her body was relaxing as the painkiller went to work. She sent him a glare over her visor but it was short lived. "Warn me next time, but thanks. You're right, we should go. Somebody probably heard all the shooting." She started moving to get to her feet. He stored the spent painkiller back in his belt and hooked his hand around her good arm, hauling her straight up to her feet as he rose. She lurched for a moment, dizzy, catching herself against him with her good hand on his chest plate. Jarel planted his feet and held still, letting her. He'd forgotten that she was actually a head shorter than him and was surprised at how far down he had to look.

Jarel reached up with his free hand and brushed a loose tendril of dark hair off her sweaty forehead, because it seemed out of place.

"I don't know if I can help with the crates," Elle finally said, pushing back to support her weight on her own two feet again and looking up at him.

He felt one corner of his mouth twitch under his helmet. He collected her blaster from the ground and handed it back to her. "Here, take this, and try to shoot _first_ this time," he teased, relieved she was alright. "Leave the rest to me," he said, heading back to the crates.

XXXXX

As soon as the crates were on board, Joelle ordered R4 to liftoff. Then she sat down at the lounge table and took off her visor, peeled off her gloves, and then her SBI armored vest, gingerly. She lurched back to her feet to retrieve the medipac from the wall by the galley and slumped back in the lounge seat again, rolling down her shirt to hit her shoulder with another painkiller. She hissed through her teeth as she slammed it home, then closed her eyes while she waited for it to work.

After a moment the pain ebbed enough for her to see straight again, and she reached into the medipac for a cutter, beginning to cut the long sleeve of her shirt off above her wound. Then she gripped it, braced herself, and ripped it out of the blaster shot. Cursing and hissing, Elle dropped it to the table and leaned her head on her good hand for a moment with a whimper, waiting for the pain to subside again. Feeling blood flowing again, she reached for the gauze, shaky fingers fumbling with it.

Suddenly Jarel's warm hands, sans gloves—when she looked she realized he'd dropped his bracers and helmet on the table next to all her things—stopped hers. He must have come back after securing the crates, she mused.

"Jarel, I'm bleeding here, move," she hissed, trying to yank her hand free.

"I can see that," the clone replied dryly, not letting go. "Let me do it. I have steady hands." Joelle paused with a blink, surprised by his offer, but quickly conceded before he changed his mind, actually relieved to not have to doctor herself for once. He grabbed the gauze and applied pressure, ignoring her wince.

"In that case, I need you to get me something from the galley first," Elle insisted, her good hand taking over from his, holding the gauze in place. Following her instructions, Jarel went into the galley. The second cupboard over, middle shelf, he pulled out a long glass bottle, hidden in the back, topped with a shot glass.

"Yep, that. Bring it here," she ordered eagerly. He complied, and once he'd set it on the table she instructed him to pour a full glass. It had been opened before, though it was missing only one drink: from her birthday. "Good Corellian brandy," she sighed, lifting it with her good hand and inhaling with pleasure. She quickly knocked it back with a shiver and sigh. "Want one?" she offered him, handing the glass back, and he poured another glass.

With a shrug, Jarel sniffed the amber liquid and then knocked it back, though he sputtered and coughed. "Oh," he said, looking at the bottle with deeper understanding. "That is good," he agreed, feeling it burn a line of fire down to his belly, licking his lips. He had little experience with alcohol, although the information his flash training provided was interesting. He liked the taste on his lips: sweet, followed quickly by fire. Elle laughed as she slouched back in her seat.

"Nothing better for pain," she murmured, closing her eyes as she felt both the alcohol and painkiller hit her system. "Alright, Jarel. Doctor me up."

He knelt on the floor in front of her, grabbing the gauze and disinfectant. She only grunted as he dumped in disinfectant, senses dulled by the meds and alcohol.

"Sorry," he murmured anyway, a strong hand on her elbow keeping her from jerking away. Then he pulled out the bacta spray and the soothing feeling made her finally relax with a deep sigh. Elle slumped forward, and her forehead bumped the cool plastoid covering his shoulder. For a moment she pulled back, not having realized how close he was, but feeling the muscles in her neck relax, she let her forehead rest there. He didn't make a move to shove her off so her eyes closed, as he wrapped her upper arm and around her shoulder with gauze and tied it tight. She was tired of being strong for so long. Having a literal shoulder to lean on was nice. Especially such a strong one. Right now she needed to trust him, because he could take better care of her than she could. The alcohol and meds let her guard relax.

Jarel finished the knot and paused, fingers lingering on her skin. She had her head on his shoulder bell, and he suddenly wished he wasn't wearing plastoid so he could feel it more acutely. He slowly let his fingers trail down her arm, drinking in the feeling against his rough fingertips. He wanted to trace it with his lips suddenly as well, inhale the scent of her skin, but resisted, something telling him it would be too much. Her hair, before carefully braided, was now frizzy with loose tendrils.

Turning his head slowly, he looked at her, then his fingers left her hand in favor of brushing that same lock of errant hair off her temple. Her hair was silky smooth between his fingers, and he again felt the urge to tangle his fingers in it, but that roused her, and she pushed back. For a moment she looked at him, their faces level, her eyes running over his face but not quite making eye contact, and then she turned away, looking back at her shoulder.

"Thank you, Jarel," she said, inspecting his handiwork.

He climbed to his feet, collecting his discarded plastoid. "No problem, partner," he said quietly, then went to change. Elle eased herself stiffly to her feet, walked to her cabin and barely had the presence of mind to discard her bloodied clothes before she collapsed on her bunk, asleep.

* * *

 _AN: Yes, Jarel doesn't quite get it yet, and maybe he's a bit of a jerk. He's learning! If you think he's a tad out of character, everything should be explained next chapter. Next chapter is going to be a big one for him._


	12. Chapter 12

_AN: Sorry I've been absent for a bit! I was spending some time with family over the holidays. Also, had some writer's block with this chapter. Originally everything you'll read in chapter 13 was supposed to be here, but then I added scenes and it was too long. So this story has gained another unplanned chapter and chapter 13 is already mostly complete. Go figure._

 _Disclaimer: I still own nothing._

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

 _Hyperspace, en route to Coruscant, on board the_ Tracker _, 5 months after the start of the Clone Wars, 22BBY_

When Jarel wandered out of the crew quarters seven hours of sleep later, there was no sign of Elle.

He assumed she was sleeping, and he approved. Her injury wasn't severe but rest would help her heal faster. Wearing only the loose trousers he had decided he liked sleeping in, the clone passed through the lounge and into the galley to make some tea, since he'd already gone through the last purchase of caf. While it steeped, he stepped into the cockpit to check on things. It was a habit he was quickly adopting, checking the cockpit whenever he was even remotely nearby to assure himself that everything was in order. It still made the hair on the back of his neck stand up when he thought about them hurtling through space with no one at the helm, though those times were rare since Joelle usually worked in the cockpit.

The swirling blue of hyperspace greeted him through the transparisteel as the door slid open. R4, plugged into the console via a port between the two front seats, spun his dome around and beeped at him. Elle had claimed the astromech could pilot the _Tracker_ autonomously, and apparently it was true. She must have ordered the droid to leave Socorro before going to sleep. Jarel, not fully able to understand the beeps the droid used to communicate, moved farther in and tapped the Nav computer screen to warily check their destination: Coruscant.

Satisfied, he returned to the galley and collected his tea, which he found palatable if he dropped in several packets of sweetener, and carried it to the lounge, where he sat on the hard couch and flipped on the holoscreen to load the next episode of the holodrama he was watching.

Elle had an impressive collection of holovids, and Jarel had quickly jumped into going through them. He learned more about civilian life and the galaxy with each one, and he approved of most of them. Usually they had great action scenes with explosions and a lot of them were detective stories. A few seemed to revolve around romantic relationships with unnecessarily convoluted plots, and he didn't care for those. Some of them were about freighter pilots or smugglers. The one he was watching currently, _Hosnian Heat_ , starred a ruggedly handsome human man (Jarel assumed women would find him attractive) named Kistre Indus, though his character went by Skiff Pulsarfire (which Jarel personally thought was ridiculous). He was a crime fighter on Hosnian Prime who knew how to use a blaster and casually out smarted his targets daily, and usually managed to find a beautiful woman to sleep with every couple of episodes (one of them, an actress named Kelaty Sungold, was currently serving as the background holo on Jarel's datapad). The clone had been scanning through the holoscreen options out of curiosity when he had stumbled across it and now he liked to try and watch some during his free time.

Not long after finishing his tea, he realized Joelle had left her blaster neglected on the lounge table, and never able to ignore dirty gear, he disassembled it and cleaned it while the episode played.

Nearly an hour later, Joelle finally appeared, though she hardly looked rested. She staggered out of her cabin wrapped up in a blanket, her dark hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders instead of braided up. Her face was pinched in pain and nausea as she crossed the lounge in front of him, but Jarel hardly noticed that. He was more entranced by the way her bare legs emerged from the folds of the blanket every time she took a step, and how she held it tightly closed in front of her. Instantly his mind started imagining what she was wearing—or _not_ wearing—under it, which sent a surge of heat right to his groin and he inhaled sharply through his nose. She fumbled in the medipac still open on the table with one hand, squinting blearily at the contents. He watched with amusement as she palmed a pack of oral painkillers and vanished into the galley. He heard water running.

A minute later she staggered back into the lounge, clutching a mug of tea. "Move over," Elle ordered hoarsely, bare toes lightly kicking his leg. She must _really_ not being feeling good if she was walking barefoot, since she hated cold toes, Jarel noted, not that he cared. He moved his foot enough that she wouldn't trip on it but didn't slide over on the seat, his eyes tantalized by the glimpse of bare skin up to her knee as she sat down and the blanket fell partially open. She didn't seem to notice as she settled slowly on the couch next to him with a sigh, setting her tea on the lounge table. Elle laid one folded arm on the table as well, closed her eyes and let her head fall forward to rest on it.

The holoscreen droned for a few minutes, but Jarel really wasn't paying attention anymore. He could replay the episode later. This was _much_ more amusing.

"It's just a kriffing blaster shot. A crinking mynock could handle it better than you are," he informed her after a moment, propping his chin on his fist. Her loose hair was spread over her shoulders and curling elegantly along her cheek, and all he could think about was grabbing a handful of it and using it to bend her over the back of the couch. The clone quickly looked away, back to the holodrama to distract himself before his thoughts manifested physically. His soft pants weren't enough to conceal an erection at the moment.

She lifted her head just enough to glare at him through her hair. "I'll be alright in a minute," she retorted weakly. " _Droyk_ , can't you go back to being nice like you were yesterday?"

"I don't know what the kriff you're talking about."

"Of course not," Elle muttered, closing her eyes again. She shivered and pulled the edges of the blanket over her legs, hiding them from his gaze again. "Why did you come back for me?"

He snorted in disbelief and leaned back, arms stretching over his head. He could see a glint from her eyes through her hair and knew she was watching him. "I'm sure you mean, 'thank you Jarel for saving my kriffing life'?"

She sighed loudly and finally pushed herself back to sit upright. "Droyk. _Yes_ , Jarel, thank you. But I'm just surprised you came for me _at all_. I'd thought you'd just leave me and take the _Tracker_ at the first opportunity." Her head turned and her eyes searched his face. Elle didn't phrase it as a question, but her tone pressed him to answer.

He stared at the holoscreen without seeing it for a moment, as he debated what to say. There were a dozen thoughts running through his head. He had been asking himself the same question, but ultimately there was only one answer: he still needed her. Even if he managed to take the _Tracker_ , he wouldn't get very far before the ship was tracked down; it was technically a Republic ship, after all. As soon as he stopped at any planet, law enforcement would be all over it. If Elle failed to report to Ilko, Jarel had no doubt there were contingency plans to find her in a hurry. And beyond that, it was her contacts that made Elle valuable to him; and the way she could move unheeded through civilian crowds and contact people with the proper access codes. Given all the time in the galaxy, he could make his own contacts and eventually find Majel himself. But he didn't _have_ time.

He couldn't let _her_ know that though, or she'd use it against him. Already he had seen first hand the depth of Elle's resourcefulness. He needed to distract her with an answer she wouldn't have considered. Besides, the casual way she assumed things about him annoyed him, and a her implication offended him. He felt his jaw tighten.

Jarel turned sharply and leaned towards Elle, one forearm bracing on the back of the couch and his other hand landing firmly on her knee. Elle started in surprise with a tiny gasp as he moved, the blanket falling aside as she reflexively brought her good arm up to fend him off with her elbow, then braced her palm against his chest, fingers splayed over his pectoral muscles. He saw a quick wince cross her face as the quick movement jostled her injured arm, and she pulled it across her chest.

Now he had her attention. Her eyes flickered between his.

"You don't know me half as kriffing well as you think you do," he informed her quietly, "if you truly thought I'd leave you behind. I _never_ leave anyone behind. No fragging _clone_ would. It's mongrels like you who have no sense of loyalty." His tone was heavy with superiority. "You were the one who said we had to _trust_ each other."

Lips tightly shut, she gave him a defiant stare. Then her expression fell and she glanced away. "You can't trust many people, in my line of work. I do...appreciate your help," the woman admitted. Jarel couldn't tell if she was genuine or just trying to avoid an argument.

Well, there was more than one way to create a distraction, and he couldn't stand it anymore anyway. He just _had_ to know what she was hiding under that blanket. The hand on her knee nudged the blanket aside and he slid his hand up the outside of her thigh until his fingertips encountered her shorts near her hip. She shivered. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his fingers. Jarel finally let his gaze drop and happily noted she was indeed wearing that delightfully scarce sleeping outfit he'd caught her in the first morning he'd come on board. He let himself enjoy the view of the low top. Jarel didn't miss how her eyes strayed as well, though she tried to hide it, flicking up and down his bare torso before meeting his gaze again. Trapped, her green eyes glared up at him as he stared down at her, waiting for him to make a move.

"Your fingers are cold," she finally protested, glowering at him. He studied her face closely, but she was doing a remarkably good job keeping her thoughts hidden. "Don't think you have an advantage over me just because I'm frinking injured. _Get_. _Off_."

He hesitated a moment longer, his mind painting a pleasurable scenario where he kissed her fiercely, pressing her back into the couch while his hands explored her body and made her moan his name. But she was still glaring at him fiercely, her body tense and ready to fight, and he'd accomplished what he had set out to do. One corner of his lips pulled up in a smirk, and he leaned back. "Relax, _Elle_ ," he couldn't resist adding. He pushed away from her and headed for the fresher.

Elle finally let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as he walked away. This was getting out of hand. Damn him, but she could feel warmth pooling between her legs now, her body reacting to his nearness of its own accord. The way he said her name made her stomach flip. She had already admitted to herself that Jarel was an extremely attractive man the first time she'd seen him in his body suit, but that didn't mean she'd _act_ on that attraction. Firstly, she didn't trust him or his intentions, and secondly, she didn't need any more rumors around the SBI that she slept with all her partners.

Except when he was leaning so close to her that she could feel the heat from his body, very clearly interested, it was hard to resist.

Elle dropped her face into her palms; she should _not_ be thinking about this! There was a pile of work waiting for her on her console that needed her attention. But more than that, she needed a break. She needed to get away from here, away from Jarel, to clear her head. She needed time to recover anyway. For the first time in a very long time, she was filled with a sudden, suffocating desire to go _home_.

XXXXX

In no time at all, they came out of hyperspace at Coruscant. It was midday on the city-planet, and Elle landed them surprisingly close to the SBI Headquarters, telling him she had a meeting with Ilko. Jarel shrugged and turned the holoscreen back on to catch the current boloball scores while they were out of hyperspace.

She was gone barely a half hour before she returned. Jarel leaned back to look at her over the back of the couch when he heard her come up the ramp. "That was kriffing fast," he commented, curious. "Where are we off to now?"

" _We_ aren't going anywhere," Elle told him as she strode past, and there was a tightness to her voice that caught his attention, besides the words. Her tone was wary and guarded, like she was hesitating to tell him something. Immediately Jarel sat up straight, fully alert, watching as she stepped into the galley. Her shoulders were tight with tension and unease, as if she was expecting a fight. The clone was off the couch and in the doorway of the galley in an instant.

Elle was checking the cupboards, as if taking stock of their supplies, but closed them when he appeared. "I'm going home to Corellia for a visit for a week," she told him, as she turned to face him. At least she knew better than to ignore him. " _You're_ staying here, on leave, at the Arca Barracks, under General Zey. That's who you report to now, by the way. He might debrief you. "

"What?" Jarel said, deadly quiet, not hearing anything after _on leave_. Elle gave a small sigh and massaged her temples with her good hand. " _Kriffing hell_ I am! You're just going to run off and leave me? You think I'm going to kriffing _let you!?_ "

"I'm just going for a week, Jarel!" she protested, already losing patience. Clearly, she'd expected him to argue. She had a dozen excuses ready. "Cam has confirmed that Majel's not on Tirahnn anymore, alright? We won't hear anymore from her for _more_ than a week. She says it's been happening lots of places since the War broke out, rich parents are sending their kids off-planet to worlds closer to the Core. There's _lots_ of worlds closer to the Core, that means lots more places for Cam to look. You have my comm code if anything comes up. My arm needs time to heal, I have a lot of vacation time, Ilko's insisting I use it, and there's...some things I need to get off my chest, at home. I—"

"Tell him no."

"Jarel—" her tone was slightly pleading while she scrubbed a palm across her face, and at any other time he would have greatly enjoyed it, but right now, he was far too angry.

"I'm not crinking stupid! You owe me, and I'm _not_ letting you out of my kriffing sight. I rescued you so you can find Majel. Where _you_ go _I_ kriffing go!" He gestured widely with his hands as he spoke, stabbing a finger at her before pointing it back at himself. His other hand was clenched in a fist so tight his knuckles turned white.

"You are _not_ coming home with me!" She stepped forward defiantly as she spoke, waving her good hand firmly. He set himself right in the door frame, blocking the way out. She scowled at him irritably when she saw his intent. "Cam isn't going to find anything new in the next week—"

"Quit using Cam as an excuse! I _know_ you have other fragging resources!"

"All the resources in the galaxy can't help with time—" Elle was attempting to placate him, her palms spread wide.

"I'm almost _out_ of fragging time," he snapped, too angry to worry about dropping hints to his secret. "And I certainly have none for crinking _vacations_."

Narrowing her eyes, Elle took two more steps forward, defiantly meeting his gaze even though she had to crane her head back because he was more than a head taller than her. "We're frinking _done_ arguing about this, Jarel. _I'm_ going to Corellia, and _you're_ staying here. Now go pack up whatever you don't want to leave on the _Tracker_ , and _move out of the way_ before I decide _not_ to come back for you at all. I need to go submit a flight plan to the control tower so I can get out of here."

Jarel didn't move, planting his forearms on either side of the door frame stubbornly. Elle glared up at him. Her eyes really were green, he noted. "Kriffing make me," he snarled.

"Jarel, either you get the Nine Hells off my ship, or so help me I'll comm Ilko and have him send some troopers over to move you bodily," she threatened icily, patience completely exhausted. From the way she was holding her shoulders he guessed the blaster shot was starting to ache again.

"You still have to get to the cockpit for that," he returned cockily. Her pretty face twisted into a scowl that he might have found terrifying if he hadn't spent all his life on battlefields. Silence reigned for a full minute.

Then Elle closed her eyes and dropped her head. He heard her take a deep breath and watched her shoulders relax in resignation. When she turned looked up again, her gaze had softened.

"Oh, Jarel," she murmured his name softly, took one step closer until only the barest inch separated them and he could feel the heat from her body. Immediately a warning sounded in his head but Jarel resolutely refused to move. She lifted her good hand to lay her palm against his cheek. The clone's eyes widened in shock and then he jerked his face away from her soft touch. She didn't seem to mind and her hand skimmed down his neck to settle on his shoulder instead. Her injured arm still didn't have full range of motion and he felt it settle much lower on his side, her fingers splayed along his ribs. He stared down at her warily, very confused by this sudden change of mood.

In one swift move, she shoved, at the same time tangling a foot with his. He tripped, though he was too large for her to move him much, but she caught him by surprise and managed to get him off balance enough that Jarel had to take a step back to catch himself. She twisted with him, escaping smoothly through the space he left.

" _Kriff!_ " he roared, furious at falling for a deception, leveling back to his feet and lunging after her down the corridor. He snagged the elbow of her good arm as she rounded the corner and slammed her into the wall of the hallway. He started to speak but Elle brought her good hand around in a punch for his jaw; he caught her fist in his hand but she kicked his knee. Jarel stumbled back with a roar of pain and she went to run to the cockpit again. Angry enough to see red, his arm snapped out and caught her around her waist, and this time his other hand came up, aiming right where he knew her blaster shot was with a sharp jab.

Her shriek of pain cut through his anger and stopped him cold. Jarel dropped her immediately. Elle staggered away from him, leaning on the wall, and turned around to face him in the doorway to the cockpit, chest heaving. Still in a ready stance, he ground his teeth, dread settling like a stone in his belly. He had a terrible feeling that he'd crossed a line.

They stared at each other for a minute, panting. Her hand hovered over the door controls. "You have twenty minutes to get off my frinking ship," she told him, deadly quiet, then she closed the door.

* * *

 _AN: So yes, they're splitting up for a chapter or two. It's important, I promise. Even though I replaced it, I liked that scene a lot too, so I saved it for use later. And y_ _es, I had some fun with Jarel this chapter. The holodrama and the names are supposed to sound over the top and ridiculous. Reviews are loved!_


	13. Chapter 13

_AN: I want to say a huge thank you to all my anonymous/guest reviewers. You guys are great._

 _I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. The new year has been very busy for me thus far. Apparently I can only write when I have a broken heart._

 _Disclaimer:_ _I still own nothing._

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

 _Hyperspace, en route to Corellia_ _, on board the_ Tracker _, 5 months after the start of the Clone Wars, 22BBY_

Twenty minutes later, the _Tracker_ lifted off the landing platform, Elle doing her best not to see the clone figure in blue and white armor striding away. Piloting one-handed, she guided the ship out of the atmosphere. Fortunately a good Corellian made ship like the _Tracker_ handled easily. The jump to Corellia was simple, one of the many programmed into the Nav computer's memory. She glanced at the computer's predicted local time of arrival and grimaced at the late hour before typing out a quick message to her brother to let him know she was coming.

Finally safely away in hyperspace, she sighed and let her shoulders slump, using her left hand to massage her temples. Her right hand had been resting in her lap in an effort to prevent further damage. Joelle could feel slick heat spreading slowly across her shoulder and down her arm, and the fingers of her left hand came away red when she reached back to check. Blood had soaked through her bandages.

Now, without adrenaline to block it out, she felt the pulsing pain where Jarel's strong fingers had struck. Inhaling through her nose, Joelle rose from her seat in the cockpit and gingerly made her way back to the medipac left in the lounge, though she decided detouring to the galley for another shot of brandy was prudent first. Cursing Jarel rather vehemently, she stripped off the old bandages and started over, her anger flooding back in. She had every intention of dumping the stupid clone as soon as possible, and started composing an explanation for her sudden change of heart to Ilko in her head to distract herself while she worked. He'd pulled a bunch of strings to get Jarel on board with her and he wouldn't be happy about the change. Physical abuse by one's partner was not alright. He was dangerous and unpredictable, and she had enough of that in her life without Jarel. If her brothers ever heard about it, they'd kill him. She'd figure out a way to get hold of that durned datarod herself. She had about a week to plan.

Almost an hour and another shot of brandy later, Elle slouched on the couch, feet up on the table. It was so much easier to have a partner to bandage your wounds, she mused grumpily. Now that the pain had drained her, her anger had faded too. She was never good at staying angry for long; Ilko liked how she always kept a cool head. She shivered in the cold and suddenly realized how quiet it was. Without Jarel she could finally turn the heat up again, and she leveled herself off the couch and went to do so, but it didn't make her as happy as she had expected it to. She still felt morose inside. The cold of space closed in around her and with it, the quiet.

She had never minded traveling more or less alone, depending on whether one counted a droid as company or not. Elle enjoyed hearing the sounds of her ship, the comforting hum of the engines. But suddenly it was too much; the juxtaposition to all the little sounds Jarel made was too sudden. She missed the background noise of the holodramas he watched, seeing him out of the corner of her eye as he crossed the lounge to the galley and back intermittently, the squeak of the copilot's chair as he settled into it, the deep rumble of his voice, the plastic click and clack as he cleaned and stacked armor plates or blasters.

It felt different than when Marek had left; they'd still been on speaking terms and he'd promised to see her soon, and so she had hardly noticed his absence. Even though she'd been alone on the ship, still knowing that she was with Marek had kept her from feeling lonely. Now she knew better, knew that her and Marek had never been together, that despite his claims, he had just been using her. This was the first time she'd truly been alone since realizing that. Jarel had softened the blow she'd been dealt when she'd overheard Marek's comm call the morning after, providing a distraction.

So now with Jarel gone it was a double reminder that she was alone. And she didn't _want_ to be alone anymore, maybe _that_ was what had changed. Now she'd had somebody else again, and remembered that she _liked_ having a partner, that the plan had always been to have a partner before Marek had messed with her head. She'd been fine for a year, alone, enjoyed it in fact; after the fights with her family and then living in the crowds of Coruscant for a year, being alone had sounded good. But in the space of two weeks, she'd grown used to the little sounds another person made. Just yesterday, he'd sat right beside her on this couch so close their shoulders and hips almost brushed. And then he'd leaned even closer, until she'd almost thought he would kiss her. The thought still made her stomach flip. No, she didn't want to be lonely anymore.

 _Oh Elle. You have horrible taste in men._ That little internal voice always sounded suspiciously like her mother's.

Still at the control panel, Elle flipped to a new screen with the speaker controls and selected her favorite playlist, letting the music ring through the ship for the first time in weeks. That was better, and she settled in to do as much work as she could one-handed. It was a couple of days to Corellia. She had time to fill.

With a cooler head, she thought about Jarel. She'd expected he would lash out and be resistant, but the _way_ he had done it showed desperation, or fear. Or both. Would she respond any better, under similar circumstances? And his upbringing had been anything but normal. He'd been trained to punch his problems instead of talk them out since day one. To be honest, his attack, aimed for her weakest spot, was beautifully executed; he had been trained repeatedly until such moves were reflex to him now. She really couldn't hold him to the same standards as normal humans.

There was something else…he'd mentioned time. A thought occurred to her, and she typed in a computer command to scour Tirahnn med center records for Majel. Just because Cam couldn't find current residence records didn't mean no records at all existed.

XXXXX

Going home for visits was bittersweet.

Joelle loved Corellia; loved the view from space, the valleys and peaks of the mountain ranges, the clouds and weather, lakes and rivers. And the cities, Kor Vella and Coronet, where she had gone to school, and especially the brandy. She loved the rural farm with her father's grave on the hillside.

But she didn't like her mother's cold shoulder.

Corellia had never been enough for Elle, despite her love for her homeworld. She had wanderlust, plain and simple, an affliction inherited from her father. He'd died suddenly, of an embolism. It was perfectly curable these days, if you lived in the city near a med center and droids, but they didn't. Her father had never been happy in cities, much like Elle. She couldn't get away to say her goodbye before he died, being deep undercover at the time and desperately close to accomplishing a mission she had planned for months. Her mother wouldn't forgive her for putting work before family.

Her first stop was her eldest brother's house in Coronet City. With four children in a townhouse, it was crowded, but whenever she called to say she was coming, there was never hesitation from Gerard to let her sleep on the couch and pick her up at the spaceport. The couch was only about as wide as her bunk on the _Tracker_ anyway.

Unintentionally, she arrived quite late in the evening, and felt guilty when her brother yawned while she loaded her duffel in the back. Even tired, he immediately noticed how she favored her right hand, and she confessed part of the story to him as they drove, promising him it was well on the way to healing and that he could doctor it in the morning. She had hoped the injury would be undetectable before she got here, but it still twinged in pain if she lifted her hand too high.

The next morning, Gerard took pleasure in unleashing his children to jump on her. Elle took it well, laughing and tickling them while trying to fend them off but they managed to steal her pillow and hold it for ransom until she told them what she'd brought them from Coruscant. She was always careful to bring them gifts, and they loved her for it. While the kids were getting ready for school, Elle let Gerard inspect and re-bandage her shoulder at the kitchen counter, once again noting how much easier it was to have someone else to help. She could tell it worried him, but he didn't say a word about it as he deftly tightened the gauze. In many ways, having older siblings was like having more than two parents.

Elle climbed into the front seat of the speeder with Gerard to take the kids to school, and rode along all day and talked and joked with her brother as he drove around the city making stops for work and taking her past some of the places where they had grown up. After that, Arlene dropped them at the spaceport to board the _Tracker_ and took the speeder to pick the kids up from school.

By flight, it was a scant half hour trip to the family ranch where her mother still lived. Joelle was grateful Gerard didn't make her go alone. He sat easily in the copilot's chair just watching the countryside out the viewport, commenting occasionally to inform her of someone who had died or point out new structures, and smiled reassuringly every time she glanced at him. She couldn't help but notice how different it felt with him sitting beside her instead of Jarel. It was wrong, almost. Gerard was far too relaxed, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest. Even when Jarel was comfortable, he was still poised to move, muscles coiled, eyes always alert. She'd gotten used to having a ready sentinel at her side. In many ways, his reflexive preparedness meant that she could relax more, even though she'd told the clone many times to settle down.

There was no landing platform out here, but this time of year the south pasture was vacant and there was a small, flat grassy knoll that Elle had used in the past. She touched the ship down gently and powered it down to standby mode, her hands flightly on the controls. She could use the right one sparingly now but still had to do most of the piloting one-handed. She stared out the cockpit window at the house, and the veil of clouds swirling around the peaks of the mountains behind it, with a rush of nostalgia. There was no other place she could call _home_ other than the _Tracker_ herself, yet arriving here brought her no feeling of peace or welcoming. It was a confusing mix of emotions.

Gerard patiently waited, also peering out at their childhood home, though he saw it far more often than she did, until she finally could find nothing else to do and her hands settled on her knees. "Ready?" he asked, probably beginning to doubt she would ever get around to it if not pushed slightly. Elle nodded and rose from the pilot's chair, zipping up her jacket as she walked back down the gangway.

The _Tracker's_ ramp creaked as it lowered, and the frigid wind roared up in their faces, causing her to shiver involuntarily, and she pulled her jacket around her tighter. This was why she had braided her hair tight to her head this morning; Elle didn't fancy fighting to untangle knots. The sun was beginning to set as they tramped down and started across the grassy field to the driveway.

Two slice hounds started growling in the yard as they came up the drive, straining on the ends of their chains though Gerard called out a greeting. Elle suddenly felt nervous, and hot despite the freezing wind coming down off the mountains. She hadn't spoken to her mother at her father's funeral, a year ago, the last time they had seen each other. She had almost missed the funeral, too, and had arrived a scant hour before it began. Gerard gingerly wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a reassuring hug as he opened the gate to let them into the yard, mindfully of her injury.

Her youngest brother—the only one younger than her—came out of the old storehouse as they started walking towards the house, and the slice hounds went silent at his call. Jay greeted them happily, hugging them both and slapping Gerard's shoulder. Seeing his infectious grin immediately made Elle smile back and she hugged him tightly, inhaling his scent mixed with smoke. Surrounded by two of her brothers, she suddenly felt some of her tension leave. _They_ were home, in a way a place never could be. She held onto him for an extra moment and he indulged her, as all her brothers always had. Finally Jay twisted so he still had an arm around her and steered them both towards the house, out of the wind, while Gerard commented on the size of the harvest this year, and Elle listened to their similar baritone voices eagerly.

"Staying for dinner? I'm sure Em's made something great," Jay asked as they stepped into the mudroom.

"I'd like to, if I'm welcome," Elle said quietly as she slipped her shoes off and gingerly eased her jacket off her shoulders. Gerard stepped forward to help her and she thanked him as she hung it up. Her fingers brushed over a worn bantha hide coat: her father's favorite, still hanging where he last left it, and she smiled sadly.

"Of course you're welcome, Elle! You're always welcome!" Jay exclaimed, always the loudest and most outgoing of all her siblings. He patted her shoulder and she couldn't resist a wince which made him pause and raise an eyebrow at her, but Joelle just shook her head and shooed him out. He reluctantly respected her wishes and led her out into the kitchen. Elle had always loved this house; it was warm and natural and smelled of wood and leather.

The holonet in the corner was playing music; Jay's wife Emmy was cooking, though she put her spoon down and wiped off her hands to hug them happily. Elle immediately spotted a bulge low in her tummy and gave the woman a sharp look. Emmy and Jay both grinned, her brother wrapping an arm around his wife and kissing her the top of her head. Joelle mused that she had never seen him so happy. They had been married for four years now, and had probably tied the knot a little too young, and there had never been any talk of them having kids. Between Gerard's four and Seth's two, there was no shortage of nieces and nephews in the family.

"Yes, I'm expecting," the blonde woman admitted, and glancing at Gerard, Elle saw that he had already known too. She hugged Em again, face split into a grin; of all her brother's wives, she'd always been the fondest of Emmy.

They talked for a few minutes, idle chatter concerning the _Tracker_ and the state of the farm. "Where's mom?" she finally asked, when the conversation waned and her anxiety made her fidget.

"She went to check the west pasture," Jay said easily, leaning on a counter. He tried to steal a bite of Em's cooking and the blonde slapped his hand away. "Should be back within the hour."

Elle nodded and straightened up. Jay and Emmy's antics were cute, but after spending two and a half days wallowing in her loneliness, Joelle wasn't ready to watch a happy couple. "I'm glad to see you, but I'd like to see dad, too," she told them, solemn. They all nodded in understanding, eyes softening. Em smiled sadly. Gerard stood up too.

"I'll come with you," he said quietly. She gave him a grateful smile. Sometimes, he truly knew her better than she knew herself. He helped her into her coat again and they stepped outside. She let him keep doing it because she knew it made him feel better. The sun was just sinking behind the clouds over the mountains now, but there was still enough light to see the path by.

In the back of the house, right at the base of the hills, was a small line of graves. It was a short uphill walk, the path lined with stones. In the spring and summer, flowers grew in abundance, but right now the ground was dark and bare. It figured she would finally visit during her least favorite season.

A pair of her grandparents, a great uncle, a stillborn child, and an aunt were buried here. And her father, the last one on the end, mound still darker and fresher than the others even after a year.

Gerard walked silently beside her until they stood at the foot. Elle knelt down after a moment. "Hello, daddy. I miss you," she mouthed the words quietly, her throat too tight to force any sound out, and reached out to touch the cold dirt reverently and then dissolved into tears. Gerard pulled her up into his arms and she cried into his chest for some time. The cold wind stung her wet face, but she accepted the penance for what it was.

"I always meant to come apologize to him," she told Gerard after her tears subsided, voice muffled in his jacket. "It was just…bad timing."

"I know, Elle," he said comfortingly, one hand rubbing her good shoulder. "And he knew it too, despite whatever mom tries to say. I think he was just sad because he knew you'd feel bad. He'd forgiven you a long time ago. I daresay he was proud. You got farther than he ever did."

"Thank you," Elle whispered, still hugging him. She dearly loved all her brothers, but Gerard was the oldest, and she'd always had a closer bond with him. He'd always been the one to look out for her, and he looked and sounded more like their father than any of them. She finally pulled back after a moment, and turned halfway. From here, the whole farm was laid out below them, up to the _Tracker_ resting on the grassy knoll. In the gathering dark, she could just see the dying grass rattle in waves as the wind moved over it. It was a welcome and beautiful sight.

He saw the affection for the landscape in her eyes. "Are you ever going to come back, Elle?" he asked quietly. "I know you don't get along great with mom, but if you were here more you could fix that. Families are supposed to stick together."

She shook her head abruptly, but it was in confusion, not a negative. "I don't know, Ger. There's so much work to do. I love Corellia, but I still feel…lost here. Without dad—" she stopped, like she always did when she mentioned him.

"I thought so," he replied after a moment, more resigned than sad. "Are you ready? Mom's back, and dinner is probably almost ready." She nodded in agreement.

Her mother's battered speeder was parked beside the house again. When they came out of the mudroom, a fire was roaring in the hearth, making it quite warm inside. Emmy was filling plates with a ladle, Jay carrying them to the laid table.

Damiane came around the corner from down the hall. "Elle," she said, stopping dead, Elle's own green eyes fixed on her.

"Hello, mom," Elle replied, then went to hug the older woman before she could be hurt by her mother not offering. Damiane patted her on the back gently.

"Here we go," Jay said, breaking up the tension as he sat down. "Elle, why don't you sit by Gerard?" he indicated. She smiled and squeezed behind his chair to take the place between her brothers. Emmy came around the counter with a basket of bread and set it down before sitting across from Elle, and they all began spooning food onto their plates. Home cooked food, that was one thing Elle _did_ miss. She had never been much of a cook, despite how eagerly Jarel ate her meals. But then he ate every meal with gusto. She tried to keep from reaching too far with her right hand, but Damiane had hawk eyes, and the thickness of the bandages were still visible under her shirt.

"What," her mother said sternly, "is that?" And two fingers pointed sharply to her right shoulder, her words silencing any other conversation at the table.

Elle gave a mental sigh; she'd hoped to avoid this argument. No hiding it now. "I was shot a couple of days ago," she informed them as nonchalantly as she could, fiddling with her silverware to keep from looking up. "My partner doctored it well. It's almost healed, and I brought bacta spray. Nothing to worry about."

Gerard changed the subject tactfully. "And how is your partner? Marek, right?"

Elle felt a twist in her guts at his name but she kept it off her face. "No," she politely corrected. "Actually I have a new partner now."

Her mother was making disapproving faces but she said nothing.

"Oh, tell us about it," Emmy said. "But what happened? I thought you liked Marek?"

"I did," Elle said quickly, staring at her food. "But he had a different...career opportunity and took it." Emmy read more into that, like a sister, and touched her hand across the table in sympathy. Elle would tell her the whole thing later.

"So what's the new guys' name?" Gerard asked.

"Jarel," Elle supplied, with a quick smile to thank him for keeping the conversation rolling. "Lieutenant Jarel."

"No last name?" her mother asked dryly.

"No," Elle confirmed, determined not to let her mother's mood affect her. "He's a clone trooper. They don't exactly have surnames." _This is not what I wanted to talk about._ "Ilko assigned him to me. I left him on Coruscant."

"Oh, interesting," Emmy said. "Are they really as good as the HNE claims?" She showed genuine interest.

"Yes," Elle said loyally, though there was nothing else to say to make them not worry. And Ilko would get mad if she started rumors. "He's very good at his job."

"That's good," Emmy agreed. They ate in silence for a moment. Gerard asked about plans for the baby and Jay gladly talked about the cradle he was building.

"You should have a doctor look at that," Damiane cut in again after a minute, directing the conversation back to Elle.

"Mom," Jay warned quietly.

"It's almost healed. And it was only a DC-44. My body armor took most of the hit," Elle deflected.

"You should ask for a desk job. You shouldn't get shot at."

"I _rarely_ get shot at, mom. This is the first hit I've taken in 8 months." She was desperately trying to avoid a fight her mother seemed desperate to start.

"You've been shot before?"

"It was just a graze." She touched her right bicep, where the faintest line of a scar gave it away. Her right ear had been grazed too but she didn't feel like telling her mother she'd almost lost her head at the moment.

Damiane was still staring at her, face pinched. "You want me to have to bury you, too?" she asked quietly.

"Mom," Jay again, more insistently.

"You aren't going to bury me, mom," Elle said calmly, finally looking up at her mother. "I'm careful."

"You're only twenty-six, Elle. You should move back here and marry someone. Like that boy in town you like." Her mother always acted liked she forgot Rinor's name, but she knew more about him than Elle did. "That's a proper life. Instead of flying around with various men."

"I like my job just fine, mom," Elle defended. Thankfully, she was finished eating. "Here, Em, let me help clean up. You cooked such a wonderful meal," she said, standing. _Jarel would love this food,_ the thought occurred abruptly. Maybe she _should_ have brought him, to help deflect her mother's ire and provide a distraction. It couldn't possibly be anymore awkward than this was. And they could have avoided their fight. _And have him around the kids? No. Bad idea._ Truth was, she was starting to feel bad for him. The more she remembered of her childhood, the more things she realized Jarel had never had. Could she truly blame him for his reaction?

A moment later, Jay followed her into the kitchen, carrying more plates. "Sorry, Elle. She does miss you, though."

"I know, Jay. It's not your fault. I just don't want to fight with her. That's why I planned on going home tonight with Gerard again, instead of staying."

"I don't blame you," he said with feeling. "But come back when the baby's born, alright? You have been such a great aunt to Gerard's kids. I expect the same!" As usual, he was the one who always made her laugh, and she promised him she would.

She and Gerard left in the _Tracker_ not much later. They played a game with his kids before going to bed. She stared at the ceiling above the narrow couch for a long time before falling asleep.

* * *

 _AN: Yes, it's a filler chapter, but it's important, especially for Elle. I hope it's not too boring, but a lot of what is going on in Elle's head has to do with her family, so we had to see them sometime. I have the next chapter almost ready so it won't be sitting here for long._


	14. Chapter 14

_AN: Sorry for the wait; life has been very busy, but I am still in love with this story. Hope you enjoy the update!_

 _Disclaimer: I don't claim to own Star Wars or Clone Wars, but Joelle Karlsen and Lieutenant Jarel (CT-4629) are my own creations._

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

 _Arca Barracks, Galactic City, Coruscant, 5 months after the start of the Clone Wars, 22BBY_

The twenty minutes Elle allotted him to gather his things and leave went far too fast, and suddenly Jarel was wearing his plastoid, carrying his DC-17 with his duffel thrown over his shoulder, and he still didn't have any good argument for Elle to let him stay. Some of the blasters had been left in the crew quarters, but nothing that he couldn't replace. All his modded blasters were in the duffel. He hadn't been sure what to do with the civilian clothes she'd given him but he'd packed his favorite set. She would put the blasters to good use, if nothing else. Jarel stopped at the top of the loading ramp. He jabbed the button with his armored elbow and it started to creak down.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Joelle come striding into the lounge, no doubt to tell him to hurry up and leave again. She stopped short when she saw him, leaving as much distance between them as possible. "Flight controls' approved my course, so hurry up before I'm late," she snapped after a moment. She propped her left hand on her hip but avoided moving the injured one. Suddenly he realized he could see blood, soaking her dark uniform and shining in the light. The ramp at his feet hit the ground and stopped.

"Ell— _Joelle_ ," he started and corrected himself. There were words in his chest that wanted to come out, but his mind couldn't figure out what they were. His face twisted into a grimace under his bucket, and he was glad she couldn't see it.

"Just frinking _go_ , Lieutenant," she cut him off with the order, sharp. "I assume you know your way to Arca Barracks."

He had paused another second, on the verge of asking her if she was still coming back for him, but the anger he in her face had made him close his mouth. Part of being a soldier meant he'd been trained to know when to make a tactical retreat. He shifted the duffel higher on his shoulder, turned and walked down the ramp, refused to let himself look back when he heard the Corellian freighter lift off a minute later. He did in fact know the way to the barracks, though it was a bit of a walk from here. He didn't mind, he wanted to glower alone for a bit.

His HUD had updated with his new orders on the way: on leave at Arca Barracks, with a bunk room and number, and so here he was, doing his best to occupy his time, afraid to check his datapad for fear he'd see he'd been reassigned, confirmation that Elle wasn't coming back. Would they send him back to his old company? Or crosstrain him into an ARC or RC now that he was already assigned to SO? He didn't know or want to find out. General Zey had called him in for a debriefing on his second day, but it was short and held no answers.

Jarel snapped his DC-17 back together, gave the barrel one last wipe with the cleaning rag, and stowed it back in the rack. He stared down at his handiwork for a moment; every inch of his gear was perfectly clean. It hadn't been very dirty to start with, since he had already cleaned it twice since Socorro. With a sigh, he sat down on his bunk. Now he truly had nothing left to do.

And he remembered their parting with a sour taste in his mouth. The scene kept replaying in his mind whenever he wasn't distracted.

It had been two days since Elle had announced she was taking leave and going "home for a visit", and already he was bored.

The first two nights had been alright; there had been a company—the 212th Airborne—also in the barracks, and talking and eating and sparring with his brothers again had been almost fun. Jarel had missed them. He'd found himself the center of entertainment, once he'd told them he was assigned to run around with an SBI agent, and a woman at that, and had fun telling his brothers stories about their escapades, though not everyone believed him. But they had shipped out this morning, and the clones currently stationed here were either on duty or asleep. Besides, they were almost exclusively ARCs or RCs, Special Operations, and everyone knew those guys were crazy. Technically he was labeled Special Operations now too, but they all had small squads that stuck close together. He didn't have a squad anymore.

On the _Tracker_ , he could have watched the holoscreen, or gone to sit in the cockpit, or challenged Elle to another match, or just gone and talked to her, or sat in the lounge and watched her work on some new piece of tech while he modded another blaster, but here there was nothing to do. What had he done to fill the hours before? What was she doing while alone on the _Tracker_? It occurred to him that she'd spent quite a bit of time alone, with just that astromech for company. How did she keep herself entertained? And after fresh food, the mess hall's fare was too bland for his taste. Jarel grimaced. He was going soft.

What did one do when "home for a visit" anyway, he wondered? She'd never talked about home with him before, except for mentioning she was from Corellia, and the ship was Corellian, as was the brandy. It was good brandy too. He missed that. He mused, if he kissed her right after she had a shot, would he taste it on his lips? That was something he wanted to try, not that he'd ever get the chance.

He hadn't realized just how much he'd liked being on the _Tracker_ until now; at first he had found it very boring, not shooting something everyday. But now he knew there were other things to do than shoot. Of course he'd noticed big things, like how much better Elle's food was than army fare, and he enjoyed the holoscreen, and having a private, hot shower. Now he realized that having a room to himself, getting to pick out his own clothes for the day, and going to sleep and getting up largely whenever he wanted was nice, and how interesting conversations with Elle were. His brothers only ever talked about tinnies and blasters; Elle picked apart plots and tracked clues across stars; she made notes about people's personalities and what made them tick, and she had a dozen people to talk to at any given time. Jarel enjoyed seeing a civilian life, where the only routine he had to keep was his. He'd only been with her for three weeks and had already learned an immense amount.

Quite suddenly, he realized he had been _content_. It had stolen over him so slowly he hadn't realized it. He enjoyed the work he had been doing, it was new and different and challenging, Elle's clever wit always held a surprise for him, and every day brought something new. Her company was fresh and different from his brothers. The clones had been bred to adapt and learn, so was it any surprise he took to his new situation so well?

 _It's only for a little while,_ Jarel reminded himself. _As soon as we find Majel, she'll dump me. She made that clear._ Jarel felt a sinking feeling inside his chest. Yes, he admitted, he liked Elle. Even though she was infuriating and put him on edge because he wasn't sure he could trust her, she brought excitement to his life, kept him on his toes, and the fact that she was beautiful didn't hurt. He liked how she walked as if expecting everyone to move out of her way, how she did as she pleased, the way she glared at him over her visor, how fast her mouth was. He liked watching her pilot, the look of concentration on her face, the way her fingers pressed the buttons, the way she knew the console well enough that her fingers could dance over it without looking at the controls. He liked looking out the viewport, watching planets grow larger and the clouds streaking past.

Elle actually looked him in the eye when they talked, and she'd asked him more questions in three weeks than Majel had in six.

 _Stoopa, if you had just kept yourself under fekking control_ , he berated himself yet again. She was angry enough now that she probably _would_ report him or not come back, and probably doubly suspicious of his intentions. Jarel pulled his feet up onto the bunk and laid back, staring at the underside of the empty one above him. His mind wandered.

Elle's shriek of pain when he'd struck her kept replaying in his mind. He'd heard cries like that before, had caused them before, so he didn't know why _hers_ bothered him, but it did. She was so fierce, so infuriating, he almost forgot she was a civvie sometimes. He'd only wanted to stop her and make her listen, he hadn't truly meant to hurt her. Reflexes, his body was so well trained that most of his actions in hot situations were just reflexes at this point. It was his instinct to aim for her weakest point, drilled into him by long hours of training until he reacted almost purely on that instinct. Jarel drew one forearm over his face and grimaced. Deep down in his gut, he felt a twist of regret. But he'd panicked when he realized she was leaving him here, where he couldn't be sure what she would be doing or who she would talk to while he was gone. And always, he felt the press of time on his shoulders.

Jarel had never really liked Majel. That annoying girl would state something, and then change her mind not a minute later, and it was always strange, unnecessary topics on her mind, like shoes. Elle spoke of bigger, more important things. He liked that; he was never bored, talking to Elle. And she said his name correctly; Majel had always stretched out the ' _A_ ' in his name with her strange accent, and he didn't like it. She had wanted him because he was dangerous, exotic, to show off to her friends. And he had been all too eager to climb into bed with her. He'd spent more time sneaking out of her bedroom window to evade her parents in the six weeks than he had spent shooting on Tirahnn. But she'd cried when he had told her he was leaving. He hadn't really cared, except for the lack of sex.

Then six weeks later, she had sent him a message informing him of her pregnancy. She always had to have the last word.

It had been a rude message too: _"You're a jerk, and I don't like you, but I'm pregnant and it's yours and I'm just letting you know."_

 _That_ was who he was really searching for: _his son_. Well, he didn't know the gender, but he _hoped_ it was a boy. He didn't want to see Majel again. Just the kid. He had no idea what he was going to _do_ with a kid; he had never held one before, only seen a few families with young kids, but it was _his_ , and there were very few things in the galaxy he could call his, so he wasn't about to just let it go. It terrified him, but he was spurred on by some deep instinct to protect his own. And some strong part of his instincts didn't trust twittery, simpering Majel to do it properly.

Jarel rolled over, chewing his lower lip. He hoped Elle found Majel soon, but at the same time, he wanted to run the other way. He had read on the holonet about children; and what he heard terrified him more than any battlefield. The mere thought made his palms sweaty. How could he do that? Alone?

XXXXX

 _Coronet City, Corellia_

In the morning, Joelle chatted with Gerard's wife Arlene while she checked her messages on her datapad. Besides the never ending messages in her dropbox from other SBI and RI agents, and various tips from other contacts, the computer had sent the results of the Tirahnn med center records search straight to her datapad so she didn't have to wait until she got back to the spaceport. It had located some sort of record about Majel visiting what was labeled as a fertility clinic, using the last name Vlamingh, which Elle assumed was her mother's maiden name, since she was human. That solidified her thoughts about Jarel. No, she wasn't going to dump him. She wasn't exactly looking forward to sharing her space with a man she didn't trust, but she was too close to getting that datarod from him to stop now. Elle wasn't a quitter.

Elle filled the rest of her day by shopping, and bought some fresh supplies for the _Tracker_. On a whim, she included a package of chocolate doughnuts. They had worked for making peace once before. Not as good as fresh ones, but hopefully Jarel would like them. It was pleasant, to have a day walking around her home town. Ilko would be pleased when she told him.

She waited around until the kids were out of school and played games with them for a while. Dinner in this little house was much warmer than the one at the ranch had been. Then Gerard took her back to the spaceport in the speeder.

"Good to see you as always, Elle," he told her before she got out. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"I'm sorry I can't visit more often," she said, and she meant it.

"We understand. You should come see Jay's kid, though." Gerard, at least, was genuine. She still wasn't sure about her mother.

"I promised I would," she answered, looking out the windscreen.

"And you can bring your durned partners home with you, you know. It'd be nice to know who you're running around with!" She could hear her father in him more than ever when he talked like that.

She smiled tightly. "Maybe I will. Depends if this one sticks around." _He'll be gone by the time Em gives birth, so it's not a lie._

Gerard studied her face intently for a moment, as if he could read her thoughts, or was committing her to memory. But he didn't try to stop her. He, alone out of the rest of her family, never had. "Clear skies, Elle."

"Clear skies, Ger." And she clamored out, lifted her two bags out of the back, and walked into the spaceport to register to leave. The agent at the counter inspected her travel documents, stamped them with the departure date, and also wished her clear skies. R4 was happy to see her, beeping as he rolled around in circles until she laughed at him and told him to start warming up the engines while she secured her packages. The food went in the galley and her duffel was tossed blithely into her quarters. Joelle settled into the pilot's seat and the engines roared to life. The air controller informed her it was safe for her to depart whenever she wished, and she eased forward on the thrusters until the _Tracker_ lifted from the platform, and turned and climbed towards space, Corellia receding quickly behind. R4 laid in the course for hyperspace, and they vanished into the stars.

But as soon as the _Tracker_ was away in hyperspace, Elle immediately felt the dark and cold of space closing in on her, the loneliness swallowing her up. She had been desperate to leave Corellia and her family, such that she was leaving two days early, but now that she had rushed to her destination, she was at a loss. She didn't want to think any more, she'd already done so much of that lately.

It was just over two standard days back to Coruscant, and Elle intended to use that time well and go through all her waiting messages, so that once she was on Coruscant and had her partner back she could clear a new mission with Ilko. She needed and intended to be prepared by the time she got back to Coruscant.

Instead, she quite suddenly remembered the day she had joined Corellia Security and taken the oath, with both her parents and Jay present in the room and smiling in pride, and uncontrollably sobs bubbled up from inside her and she buried her face in her hands and cried. Deep down, part of her recognized that she had indeed been bottling up all of her grief about her father, and she hadn't cried since the funeral. Resigned, she submitted to the emotions roiling inside of her.

 _"It's dangerous work, Elle. But it's good work, the most rewarding kind. And you're my tough girl, aren't you? You can do anything you put your mind to, remember that always. There's always a way."_

It was because of her father that Elle was here now. Jorn Karlsen had been a detective for CorSec for twenty years before retiring to part time status and returning to his family at his wife's family farm. One too many fights had done their time on his body and it had been time to step back, but he'd still had a shuttle and responded to local domestic calls. Joelle, at ten, remembered attending an award ceremony for him, heard the admiration and commendations for him from his peers, seen the people whose lives he had saved with their grateful, tearful families. And she'd wanted to make the same sort of impact on other people's lives as he had.

She had done it to make him proud, because she believed in the cause as well, because she had always been more like him than any of her older brothers had, because she took after him more than her mother; and he'd _been_ proud. Then an application for the SBI had been passed around and her boss had told her to apply; she'd expected Jorn to be as proud as she was that her hard work was paying off when she told her father she had been accepted. Except he'd turned grave instead, told her Coruscant was too far and too dangerous and she didn't realize what the sacrifice would be: all the things her mother had always said. It had been a very personal betrayal. And Elle had gone anyway, because it was in her blood to protect people and she had to prove that she could.

Two years later, she had been so deep undercover she hadn't even gotten her mother's message about her father's health for a day; by then, her father was dead. It took her two days to finish the mission and leave, and it had taken all of her willpower not to let her worry distract her and ruin the mission. He'd asked for her, mumbled her name, her mother said. And she hadn't come.

Elle pulled her feet up onto the seat with her and sobbed into her knees like she was a little girl again, but this time there was no comforting fatherly embrace when he finally found her behind the barn to soothe her heartache. No, she hadn't come, poor payback for all the times he had come to her aid over the years, but _if only_ he had known the reason, met the twenty people whose lives she had saved, he would have been proud again. Right?

Elle sobbed until her tears dried up, face turned red, hair mussed. Gerard had said he was proud. It was all the validation she would get, and she would have to make her peace with that. She missed her father desperately, now, having been home and seen the house without him, his chair at dinner vacant, his jacket stiff and unworn. It made it _real_ , somehow, in a way that it hadn't been the last year. She'd known he was dead, she'd been at the funeral, hair still dyed an unnatural blonde, but now she _knew_ he was gone and he wasn't coming back. Some part of her deep down realized she had been avoiding returning home not because of her mother, but because of this. And it was long past time.

Sometime later, suddenly exhausted, she finally unfolded from the chair, patted R4 on his dome, and stiffly left the cockpit. She splashed cool water on her swollen face in the refresher, took her hair down and brushed it smooth again, then went to her quarters and changed into her sleep clothes. Elle stared at her bunk for a moment, but found no desire to sleep on it. Instead she grabbed the blanket off her bunk and went back to the cockpit.

The brunette settled herself in the pilot's seat again, tucking the blanket around her and propping her feet on the console. Then she leaned back and stared out the transparisteel at the swirling blue stars until she was finally lulled to sleep. She had done this before, like after Marek left and the bed still carried too much of his scent for her to relax in it.

The next day she was determined to work, but it was slow. Memories of her father, and Marek, kept surfacing and she'd catch herself staring off into space.

She wasn't fully sure where they would head next; at any one time she had dozens of leads for several different cases and she responded to them when she had the time, was in that sector of space, or the lead was too valuable to miss. Her job was largely a waiting game until something happened or she caught a lucky break. But patterns emerged; she expected that either Mumbai or Phindar would be the next stop. She turned around in the pilot's seat to access the comm station and got to work.

A few hours later, her eyes burning, Elle conceded that she had made a good start in processing information and shut the terminal down to standby and went to fix something to eat and a mug of tea. While she did that, her thoughts wandered back to her partner. She would be back in Coruscant space tomorrow, and she still wasn't entirely sure how to handle their situation.

The _violence_ of Jarel's reaction was what had surprised her most. She had expected him to resist, but it was almost mindless, like a caged animal. Except that years in the field had taught her that _no one_ was mindless, there was a _reason_ for everything. Like a cornered animal, he was desperate. He was afraid of something, fighting a feeling he wasn't used to, and he lashed out. Being trained to fight, that lashing manifested physically instead of vocally. Elle was good with body language, and clone or not, Jarel was still human. But what did a _clone_ value? The HNE talked all about their loyalty, to each other and to the Republic. But Jarel was not with his brothers, and he'd lashed out at her. The thought of having his undying loyalty made her heart flip for a second but she pushed past the thought. Though he'd raced to her rescue quickly on Sorocco, no, he didn't like her very much. He just needed to use her for a little while, like Marek. Though she'd thought she'd seen immediate remorse on his face, now that she wasn't angry. What else could he be loyal to, then? _Majel,_ her tired brain supplied the answer, and her heart sank, because she knew immediately that it was true. _You've found yet another man wrapped up in another woman._ Once again, that thought was in her mother's voice.

Elle shook her head firmly to clear it. From the beginning, she'd known he was just another client, only having to pose as a partner for a little while. All she'd done was admit Jarel was physically attractive. So, Jarel had lashed out because there was another delay getting to Majel? But he'd told her the two of them weren't talking, that he didn't know where she had gone, so clearly she didn't want to see him. Elle still felt uncertain about helping him find a girl trying so hard to hide, but the promise of the intel on the datarod was too good to pass up, and she'd figure out a way to protect everyone. She was determined to, and she always did.

In fact, Elle was beginning to realize that there was more to Jarel than that grumpy, hard, arrogant exterior he projected; a _lot_ more. And why did he bother projecting it? That implied he was hiding something, which implied a certain amount of fear if that something were discovered, which just meant he would fight harder to keep it hidden. It was, she recognized, partially her own fault she hadn't realized this before: she had let what she thought she knew about clones be the only thing she saw, and she'd made assumptions and generalizations about him. And assumptions were dangerous, that was one of the first things her mentor in CorSec had taught her. Jarel was far smarter, with a far more complex personality and motives, than any sort of other clone she had seen before. He really was _human,_ a _man,_ and she felt a bit guilty, because she had always considered herself more open minded than this. Clearly, she needed to treat him with more care.

She was curious now, too: apparently there was some merit to the rumors passed around on the black market that the Kaminoans were the best cloners in the galaxy. Jarel had a clear, defined personality. Now, her inquisitive brain wondered if that was true of _all_ the clones in the GAR, or was Jarel an erratic outlier? Was that personality reflective of his upbringing, where he had been a soldier before a child, or was it something the Kaminoans had programmed to make the clones better soldiers? Did every clone have the same personality, the same depth? She resolved that she would have to meet another one to determine that. If they were as diverse and varied as a normal human population, well...that caused an uneasy feeling in her stomach: was the Republic in fact employing a slave army to fight their war for them?

So, where did that leave their relationship, she mused, coming back to herself as the heating unit beeped to inform her that her food was warm. That was going to take a lot more thought, she realized, eating quickly, feeling like she could get back to work now that she'd puzzled that out. The only way through was forward, her father had told her once. On to the next mission.

* * *

 _AN: Had horrible writer's block for the second half of this. It's a bit longer; hope that makes up for the lack of updates. Thank you to those of you who are sticking with me~_


	15. Chapter 15

_AN: Sorry this update took a little longer than usual, I had to do some research and switch planets and various other plot things, but it was worth the wait I promise._

 _Disclaimer: I don't claim to own Star Wars or Clone Wars, but Joelle Karlsen and Lieutenant Jarel (CT-4629) are my own creations._

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

 _Arca Barracks, Galactic City, Coruscant, 5 months after the start of the Clone Wars, 22BBY_

Jarel was weightlifting in the gymnasium. It wasn't his favorite thing to do, but after four days of hanging around bored in the barracks, he had resorted to it. Actually, on the second day, at a complete loss for how to spend his time, he had reverted completely to the clones' familiar army schedule, including running laps, gym time, and simulations. But now it was mundane, where it used to be a comforting routine, and set his teeth on edge. The work was all the same, and provided no distraction from his worries. While his hands were occupied, his mind wandered, and it always settled on worrying about Elle and whether she was coming back or not and how he'd find Majel otherwise. He was annoyed to find that his weightlifting skill had already diminished in only three weeks, but he had almost gotten it back already. _If_ he got back on the _Tracker_ , he resolved to find something heavy to lift everyday.

His commlink buzzed as he finished, and the clone took a moment to breathe and walk over to hang a towel around his neck before he answered, though he had no idea who it could be. Nobody had called him the whole time he had been here, save Zey's clone Captain Maze, to tell him to report for debriefing. Jarel forced himself to check his datapad at least once a day, just to make sure he didn't miss any reassignment, but otherwise he was too afraid he'd see he had been transferred to check often. So far his _on leave_ status hadn't changed, and he hadn't been reassigned, but Elle wasn't due back for two more days and so he wouldn't relax or allow himself to hope just yet. A grimace pinched his face. He was already sick of this routine, this waiting, and not doing anything. He didn't know if he could stand two more days.

"CT-4629," he spoke into the commlink, lifting it to his mouth.

" _Lieutenant, this is the_ Tracker," the words came over the commlink slightly tinny, but his heart skipped a beat, because that was Elle's voice, though formal. " _We are inbound, ETA twenty minutes. Be ready for pickup on the south side landing platform, please."_

"Acknowledged, ma'am," Jarel snapped, almost before she'd finished, already heading towards the showers for a rinse.

A soldier never had many belongings, and they were always packed, so Jarel found himself marching onto the platform two minutes early, duffel in one hand, wearing his plastoid. Looking around, the man paused on the edge of the landing field, not quite sure where she'd set the _Tracker_ down since the space was meant to accommodate ships far larger than the Corellian freighter. He made himself wait patiently, fighting to keep from fidgeting. Until his boots were on the ship again, he still wouldn't believe the good news. A familiar engine rumble reached his ears and Jarel pivoted right to observe the _Tracker's_ shape appear from behind a comm tower, tilting to come towards him, the landing struts extending. Right on time, the ship slowed and gently descended to land before him, the ramp slowly lowering in invitation. Jarel tempered his pace and strode up, keeping his steps even in order to not appear in a rush. At the top he hurriedly punched the large button to close the ramp again and dropped his duffel right beside the portal, hurrying across the lounge and up the gangway into the cockpit. He had to _see_ her, to know he wasn't dreaming.

The cockpit door slid open with a hiss, and there she was, in the pilot's seat, back to him. Elle's dark hair was pulled back into a messy knot, and she was leaning slightly on the armrest as she talked to a small blue figure hovering over the holoprojector in the middle of the console. Under his bucket, Jarel's face split into a grin, though he quickly smoothed it away as he pulled off his bucket, holding it under his left arm as he took two steps forward and sat down slightly sideways in the copilot's seat. His greeting was cut off, but he actually didn't know what to say anyway. Now he could fully see Elle. She wore civilian clothes, loose dark trousers and a long sleeved green shirt with the v-neck unbuttoned. At a glance, the thickness of bandages that had been wrapped around her right shoulder seemed to be gone, but it was hard to tell for sure. The astromech spun its dome around and beeped at him rather cheerfully, and Jarel patted the droid's dome with his free hand. Now the words of the conversation finally caught up to him.

" _So Castell it is, then,"_ Ilko spoke slowly when Elle finished; Jarel had been too busy drinking in the sight of her to pay attention to her report. _"Sounds promising, though risky. But do you have enough time? This year's gala with the senators is in ten days, Elle, and you_ will _be there."_

"Even at the expense of a mission?" she countered, as Jarel watched her dexterous fingers type out a flight plan to Coruscant Control for approval.

" _Captain Karlsen, when your superior gives you an order—"_

"It's a routine intel collection, sir. Won't take more than a day," she cut him off, levity gone now.

" _I know it won't, you're one of my best agents,"_ the Director groused. _"Well, what is it you Corellians say, I wish you clear skies?"_

"Clear skies, yep," Elle confirmed. A screen which Jarel was beginning to recognize as the NAV computer suddenly switched from red to green with a beep. "Coruscant Control's approved my flight plan," she told Ilko, sitting up straight in her seat again as her fingers began to flip switches. Jarel could feel a slight rumble under his feet as the engines powered up again, the muffled whine in his ears familiar now, and a very welcome sound. His chest felt light with excitement, and he turned in his seat to face fully forward again.

 _"Good. The sooner you leave the sooner you'll be back. And I'll expect a full report from you in person next time, to make up for your short stop now,"_ he said sternly.

"Of course," Elle replied as she gently eased up on the thrusters and the _Tracker_ lifted off. Jarel leaned forward and craned his neck to look out the viewport and watch the ground fall away.

" _Good. Be careful. Ilko out."_ And the blue hologram on the console died, leaving them in silence save for the distant sound of the ship's engines as they powered away over the Acra barracks and into the cloudy sky. Elle concentrated on the console for a minute, steering the ship around a skyscraper and nosed the viewscreen up into the clouds.

The clone cast his mind about for something to say. He was relieved to see her, but leery of letting her know how much. He eyed her sideways, observing that she used both hands equally for piloting, so hopefully the right one was healing after all.

Quite suddenly, Elle turned to look at him, and Jarel slowly turned his head to meet her gaze. "What do you know about Castell?" she asked, looking repeatedly between him and what her hands were doing. Breaking through the clouds, the inkiness of space and the pin pricks of stars were fast approaching, and the cockpit began to grow dark.

Surprised at such a mundane topic choice, it took Jarel a moment to find his voice. "It's a CIS planet," he finally said, then cleared his throat. "Have you ever been there?"

"A couple of times, mostly before the war. Not the best place to visit though. Very urban, not much diversity. Very crowded. Run by the Commerce Guild. Not terribly different from Coruscant, except that it's Separatist aligned."

Jarel just nodded his head like a puppet, not really sure how to reply. She went back to piloting, various beeps and chimes coming from the console as the ship responded to her queries. "Got those coordinates, R4?" The droid beeped quite extensively in response, and Elle chuckled at him. "Good."

Was this how Elle was without him, Jarel mused, unease and something he couldn't name yet growing in his chest. At ease in the cockpit, giggling with her astromech? Had she felt lonely at all? Surely _she_ hadn't been bored. Best keep the conversation moving and save these thoughts for when he was alone. "How long does it take to get there?"

Elle leaned back and glanced down at the console, tapping one particular screen with several sets of numbers on it. "Just over a day, and it will be late afternoon when we arrive," she answered, pointing to separate lines of numbers. He nodded, committing that to memory, with a note to study that read out more in the future.

"So…what are we doing on Castell?" he continued, gloved fingers drumming softly against his bucket in his lap.

"It _is_ a simple intel collection," Elle answered easily. "I have a contact there who listens to local channels. Castell is pretty central to a lot of traffic, both Republic and Separatist, being along the Perlemian Trade Route, but the Commerce Guild controls the planet. My contact hears what he hears, and every now and then I arrange to pick up what he's got. He pinged me two days ago that he had something important. We just have to land, blend in, meet with him, and leave. It is a bit behind enemy lines, however, so we will have to be careful."

"And how are we blending in?"

"Well, I _am_ technically registered as a transport for hire, so I swung by the cargo port before I picked you up and acquired a load of crates bound for Castell. They're in the hold, awaiting delivery. So we're freighters."

The clone cocked his head to one side in thought. "But...if Coruscant is Republic, and Castell is Separatist, are they still trading?"

The brunette woman grinned at him. "Astute. No, strictly Coruscant and other Republic worlds have a trade embargo to all Separatist worlds. But a few worlds still trade. Corellia, for example, has declared themselves neutral in the war, which is smart from a financial standpoint, and so their trading is largely unaffected. Which allows them to do things like this. And Coruscant still has to honor it's agreements to private companies to allow goods to move through. It's very complicated, but it won't blow our cover. Plus, I picked up Corellian goods, starship pieces, and the _Tracker_ was just logged at Corellia. So there you go."

Jarel was reduced to nodding again as the ship's engines hit a higher key, powering up, watching as the stars stretched and the ship lurched into hyperspace, the dark cockpit reflecting the blue glow. He waited until Elle had completed the jump, then he stood up. "Guess I better put my stuff back in the crew quarters," he offered, a lame excuse for leaving.

"Oh, Jarel?" she called over her shoulder. He paused, nerves gathering tight in his stomach again. "There's some chocolate doughnuts in the galley, if you need a snack."

This time, he recognized the apology for what it was immediately, though he wasn't sure why _she_ was apologizing, since _he'd_ hurt her. "How's your arm?" he blurted out suddenly, turning around again, because he was concerned.

She turned her chair to face at him, lifting her right elbow up and down a few times and shrugging her shoulder. "It's healing," she admitted. "My brother Gerard helped me treat it while I was on Corellia. Not quite full range of motion yet, but it will get there."

"I can treat it again if you need it," he found himself offering stiffly.

She paused, as if surprised by the offer. "I...will let you know if I do," she agreed. He gave a curt nod and made his escape. He retrieved his duffel and went back into the crew quarters. No one had been in here since he'd left, he could tell. The other spare clothes were where he'd left them, as were the blasters. Jarel dropped the duffel and pulled the datarod out of a pocket on his bandoleer, staring at it in his hand for a moment. Giving it to her would probably suffice as an apology, and he was surprised to realize that he _wanted_ to give it to her. There was strong feeling inside him that he could trust Elle, that she kept her word once she gave it. But he fought the feeling down. Jarel knew better: people only helped you when there was something in it for themselves. He sighed and put the datarod back in his pocket. _Kriff, Jarel, you're getting weak,_ he heard the words in his head, the voice sounding like one of his old training sergeants on Kamino. _What, as soon as you see a pretty face you fall all over it and want her to like you?_ He gritted his teeth and unpacked his belongings before stripping off his kit and going in search of the doughnuts she'd mentioned.

XXXXX

Joelle watched Jarel leave the cockpit out of the corner of her eye, and felt most of her nerves dissipate as the door shut behind him. She'd been inordinately worried that he would react badly to her return as well, demand to know where she had been or attempt to steal the _Tracker_ from her. At least, she had expected him to be upset or show her a cold shoulder, but instead he'd seemed as on edge and nervous as she had felt. Not that she was dumb: she'd strapped on her blaster pistol before picking him up.

It was odd. Given his earlier behavior, and from what she knew of his personality, the clone ought to have reacted just as violently. Instead, he'd almost seemed relieved, happy even. The only cause she could fathom for it was that he actually _did_ like her a little. And then he had all but apologized, by inquiring after her arm. Elle was good at observing people; she'd noted his gaze lingering on her right shoulder as if reassuring himself that she was alright. It showed concern that she hadn't expected from him. She wasn't sure if he was just waiting for an opportune moment or if he'd truly forgiven things and calmed down. Her caution told her it was the first; her instincts told her it was the latter.

She glanced at the comm terminal, where the results of her Tirahnn med center records search and text conversation with Cam waited. She had confirmed her findings: Majel Vlamingh, under her mother's maiden name of Landry, had been to the Tirahnn Fertility Clinic twice, just a few months ago. Elle had done some checking into exactly what kind of treatments that clinic was known for, and she had a sneaking suspicion that if Majel had been pregnant at one time, it had been ended by unnatural means. She could not openly view what procedures Majel had undergone, but the timing of the visits and the use of her mother's maiden name suggested she wanted to keep it private and hidden, or her family did, and Elle was reasonably certain her guess was correct.

She had sent the information on to Cam; she'd had to search the med center records through the name "Majel", and of the three entries, only one had come up with the correct dates. Cam had confirmed it was indeed accurate, and though the Wroonian had already discovered Majel's mother's maiden name, the dates, she said, would help her narrow her emigration search.

But whether or not Elle should share these findings with Jarel yet was the question. Initially, she had planned to, of course, but then she realized that if Jarel was, as she suspected, desperate to find Majel to see the child he had fathered, the news that the child had never existed would effectively end their bargain. And after his outburst, she didn't know if he would surrender the datarod as they had agreed or not. Most likely, he would claim that she was making up the story to get the datarod faster and demand that she find Majel anyway. And Elle was starting to think it would probably be best for him to hear it from the girl's own lips. Or would he grow mad that she had concealed the information? Elle mused. She drummed her fingers on the console in thought, still unable to make up her mind.

XXXXX

Just over a day to Castell left plenty of time for down time, not that the clone needed more of that. Jarel took a minute to survey all of his weapons, but everything was in perfect condition, and he'd restocked on grenades at the barracks. He went to the galley and was pleased to discover Elle had restocked on caf too and made himself a cup, and found the doughtnuts she had mentioned. They weren't quite as good as he remembered, maybe because they were packaged and not fresh, but it was still one of the best things he'd ever eaten. This time he was mindful of her words from before and ate more slowly, though he still had two instead of just one. Then he sat in the lounge and flipped on the holoscreen to find something to watch.

Joelle worked in the cockpit, and only emerged a few times: once to go to the galley for tea, once she padded to her quarters to retrieve a datapad, twice she went into the cargo bay. Finally she appeared for the last time, yawning, to replace her mug in the galley and inform him that she was going to sleep, turning the lights down as she did so before vanishing into her quarters. Jarel conceded that it was probably a good idea, having grown bored, and likewise went into the crew quarters.

But his biological clock was on a different time than the _Tracker's_ at the moment, and he found he only dozed for four hours before he was wide awake again. Needing a break, Jarel got up, wearing only the loose pants he slept in, and left the room, strolling across the dim lounge to the galley, where he found another doughnut snack. Then he decided to check on things in the vacant cockpit, as had become his routine before Elle had left.

Except when the door slid open, he realized the cockpit wasn't empty.

Elle was stretched out in the pilot's seat, feet on the console and chair tilted back. Her head was tipped to one side, her eyes closed. A blanket covered her, shoulder to toe. The astromech was still plugged into the console, and one of her hands rested limply on the droid's dome. He crept forward slowly, enough to take in her face. Relaxed in sleep, and lit only by the blue of hyperspace, she looked peaceful, pretty, and much younger than she did with the weight of her work on her shoulders. He left without disturbing her.

* * *

 _AN: Reviews are loved._


	16. Chapter 16

_AN: Look, a wild update appeared!_

 _Disclaimer: I don't claim to own Star Wars or Clone Wars, but Joelle Karlsen and Lieutenant Jarel (CT-4629) are my own creations._

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

 _Minariike Spaceport, Castell, 5 months after the start of the Clone Wars, 22BBY_

Rain drummed on the hull of the _Tracker_. After three days of such weather, Jarel had largely tuned it out now, except in the moments when the frequency shifted as it came down harder. Not that he minded rain; it only reminded him of Kamino, back when his life was simple and his podmates alive. And this time he was inside, dry and warm. It was just mud that he wished to avoid; he'd seen enough of that to last even his short lifespan slogging through it on Tirahnn. Mostly, Jarel was getting cabin fever, being cooped up in the freighter. He'd cleaned and organized all his meager possessions twice, and had taken to working out in the cargo hold to keep his muscles primed, moving the heavy cargo around without using the grav lifts, but it wasn't enough.

Leaning both hands on the galley counter, Jarel tapped his fingers in tune with the drumming rain and fairly snatched the mugs from the buzzing heating unit as soon as the water was hot. It said a lot that he was desperate enough for something to do that he was making Joelle's tea— _and_ a cup for himself. It really just wasn't up to par with caf. He dropped in the appropriate amounts of sweetener—three packets for him, one for her— and with a steaming mug in each hand, headed up the short distance to the cockpit.

Once they had landed here, at the space port on Castell, and the cargo from Coruscant and been off loaded and a new load replaced it, Elle had largely powered down the ship. She'd turned off life support and set the ventilation system to circulate to get fresh air from outside, and locked the cockpit door open. It meant that the air in the ship had a cool, still feeling to it, much like the misty rain outside, and the temperature was on the cool side, not that Jarel minded. It felt very much like Tipoca City on Kamino. He wasn't sure if he liked that or not. Most of the lighting was powered down too, and she'd mentioned something about replenishing their water supply. It all left the ship dimly lit with gray light. But it was still a comfortable ship, and the holonet worked, as well as all the terminals. Really, he wouldn't mind being locked up on a ship with a pretty woman—except Elle wasn't interested in the same activities he had in mind.

In fact, she hadn't hardly left the cockpit since they landed, except for food, which she immediately took back to the cockpit. Apparently, there had been some problem finding her contact; she'd had one ear bud in the whole time, listening to radio chatter. And that meant not much time to talk to Jarel. Beyond occasional grumbles about having to pay the daily fee again and again. He'd watched holodramas for a while, but now he was too bored even for that to be a good distraction. Even all of his reports were complete and filed. He was starting to miss running laps around the parade ground.

At the moment, Joelle was leaning on the console, one elbow propped up, her cheek resting sideways on her hand. It looked like she'd raked her hands through her hair several times because several tendrils were loose from her tight bun. Only a few lights were dimly shining red or green on the console; most of the controls were grayed out and dead. She didn't seem bothered by the wait in the least. Elle may have been tired, and he'd seen her stretching her neck, and rubbing at her back, but she didn't seem impatient or stir-crazy like he felt. The clone wasn't sure if she truly didn't mind, or if her greater life expectancy just left her more patient.

He couldn't help but notice how the loose tendrils of hair curled sensually against her pale neck, or how the angle she leaned at pulled her shirt against her breasts. He paused and let himself have a moment to enjoy the view, since she apparently hadn't heard him enter.

"Hey," he finally said after a moment. She lifted her head and slowly spun the pilot's chair around to face him with a toe on the floor, her gaze lowered and unfocused like she was listening intently. Gradually, she lifted her eyes up to see him.

Jarel offered one mug with a raised eyebrow, and a small smile touched her lips as she took it. He moved forward and sat in the copilot's chair, propped his feet up on the console, one ankle over the other, and watched the rain stream down the viewport. Beyond it, the walls of the docking bay rose up around them, gray and blurry through the mist. At the very least, they could have been stuck somewhere with a better view than the dockmaster making his rounds every few hours. Jarel had long since lost interest in him.

"I've always loved rain," Elle said quietly, to his surprise. She was leaning her chin on one hand again, staring outside. Something about the gray light softened her features. "On Corellia, the clouds would creep down and veil the mountains in mist, and the air would smell clean and fresh," she continued, eyes far away with memory this time and shining. Then she shook herself out of her reverie and took a sip from her mug. One hand went to rub her neck with a wince.

"Should move around more. Then you won't get _kriffing_ knots," Jarel admonished, because he had no comments about rain. He felt inadequate for it. "We could spar," he offered hopefully, voice a little rough from disuse.

Her lips curved in a slight smile again and her head turned enough for her gaze to land on him. The gray light made her green eyes look more blue than normal. "Really? You haven't had enough of losing yet?"

His face remained deadpan, serious gaze meeting her own. "The first time, you caught me off guard," he informed her. It was the honest truth; he'd underestimated her and hadn't thought she would ever be able to hurt physically him. Then her blow to his solar plexus had stunned him in more ways than one. "You need _a lot_ more _fekking_ practice. You're no where near fast enough."

Her smile slowly faded while he spoke, though her eyes stayed intent on him, making their own judgment. He waited for her to argue with him and fought the urge to squirm under her gaze. It always felt like she was seeing straight through him when she looked at him like that. Partially, she was staring at him like she was seeing him for the first time. But she didn't respond to either confirm or deny his statement.

After a minute she spoke again. "I'm sorry. I know the waiting must be hard on you."

"That's a _kriffing_ understatement," he grunted, glad when her eyes turned back to the rain in front of them. He felt some tension leave his shoulders. "How much _fekking_ longer will we be stuck here? I've got to see some _fekking_ action, or I'll go barvy."

Elle inhaled through her nose. "Can't wait too much longer, Ilko will be calling soon to make sure I'm back in time for his _frinking_ gala." She sighed in annoyance and leaned back in her chair. "This job isn't glamorous, I'm afraid. Much of it involves waiting. But remember, you _insisted_ on coming," she teased, turning to look at him, mischievous light dancing in her eyes.

 _Now_ things were finally getting interesting, he thought with a smirk. They hadn't really bantered in days. "Mhmm. Still better than slogging through the _fekking_ mud on Tirahnn. And the company's better."

"Why, I do believe that's a _frinking_ compliment," she started, eyes dancing at him, and then suddenly they went unfocused again as she brought a hand up to her ear with the comm bud in.

"What—?" he started eagerly, but she immediately waved him to silence. Her lips moved slightly as if she was reciting something. Finally, she stopped, and pulled the ear bud out.

"I've got him!" she reported with a wide, triumphant smile, movements fast and full of energy for the first time in days. "When he thinks his comms are compromised, Eolc has a code he embeds in radio static," she explained, spinning her chair to face the comms station at the back of the cockpit in one smooth motion. She flipped a few switches and the screen came to life. Jarel was up and out of his own chair and hovering behind her, one forearm resting on the backrest, a moment later. Her fingers flew as she typed without needing to look at the keyboard, inputting what he soon registered as coordinates. The name of a cantina came up a minute later, as well as a map. After a moment it zoomed in and highlighted a building. "It's the time and place for our meeting," she informed Jarel. "And it's this evening, so I'd better get ready."

There wasn't much for Jarel to do but continue to stare outside as Elle left the cockpit. He wasn't entirely sure yet what she was getting ready _for_. He briefly considered how different her life was from Majel's. The girl had never been off Tirahnn; whereas Elle traveled almost every day. She didn't have a home like Majel did, unless this ship counted, or the Corellia she kept mentioning. Which did he prefer, he wondered? Elle's transitory life wasn't much different than that of the clones and he was fast becoming dissatisfied with that. Even the short weeks he was on Tirahnn, he'd known before too long he would leave. For him, he supposed, home had been his brothers. And the ones that mattered hadn't survived the Battle of Geonosis. After that, he hadn't felt like he had a home. Until now, he'd never realized that was the name for the feeling he had felt in their little squad of four. And what did the _Tracker_ mean to him, then? He wasn't overly fond of this little ship. It was cozy, yes, but far too cramped. The last few days had proven that.

He heard Elle moving around in the lounge again and decided it was time to ask her what the plan was. A hand on each arm rest, he pushed himself back to his feet and walked down the gangway, his now empty mug clutched in one hand. He turned the corner, drawing breath to ask a question—and froze.

Elle was bent over the lounge table, looking over her tech tools spread out across it. And she was wearing _very_ little. Her shirt was completely mesh and transparent—was that _fekking simmersilk?_ —except for a conveniently placed horizontal black stripe for modesty. Her long legs were encased in extremely tight, shiny pants that, along with the low heeled boots she wore, only made them look _longer_. Immediately, he felt his blood rushing downwards and let out his breath in the softest groan he had ever managed. Her long dark hair was for once hanging loose in gentle waves and he imagined coming up behind her and tangling his fist in it and pulling her head back against his shoulder while his lips and teeth attacked her neck—

"I won't be too long, hopefully. An hour, two at the most," Elle said, without looking up at him. She'd doubtless heard him come down the gangway. Jarel shook himself out of his thoughts and fought to maintain his focus. She was leaving.

"Where are you going?" he managed, surprised at how normal his voice sounded. His grip on the mug was so tight he was worried it would shatter.

She lifted her chin, twisted and glanced up at him—and that gave him an eyeful of her cleavage that he couldn't lift his gaze away from, even knowing that she could tell he was looking. He just didn't understand: some times, like that first morning when he'd caught her in her sleep wear, she'd run away embarrassed. And now…was she _purposefully_ showing off for him? It was _fekking_ confusing. But when he finally glanced back at her face it was a perfect, professional mask, the same as always.

"To a cantina to meet my contact," she answered, tone implying it should be obvious.

"What about me?" he asked suddenly, desperate to keep his eyes on her as much as possible.

She paused and slowly straightened out of her bend. One hand settled on a hip as it stuck out at a jaunty angle. "What _about_ you?"

"What the _kriff_ am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, whatever you feel like."

"I don't want to stay here alone!"

"Well you can't come!"

"Why the _kriff_ not?"

She glanced to one side as she cast around quickly for a reason. "I'm supposed to be alone. He'll spook if I show up with a partner. I've never had one before. And we don't have time to wait to hear from him again. We _have_ to leave tomorrow."

"Alright, so it doesn't have to be obvious we're partners. I can still come. Like we did on _kriffing_ Ord Mantell," he pointed out, and they both paused to consider that. Anything to get off this tiny _kriffing_ ship and stretch his legs.

Elle's wrist comm beeped, and she lifted her hand to glance at it and then rubbed her forehead with a sigh. She did that a lot, he realized. "Alright, fine. Come along if you want, walk up to the bar and order a _frinking_ drink and ignore me. I suppose back up doesn't hurt. But, Jarel," and her tone changed in such a way that his gaze snapped up to meet her eyes, finally. "You _can't_ interrupt. _Whatever_ happens. Not unless you're _certain_ my life is in danger. It's a _covert meeting_ , and we have to act certain ways so that we don't blow his cover," she said, slowly and firmly. Something in her tone put him on edge, but he was too distracted to process that at the moment.

He shrugged, lips shifting into a small smirk at having won. "Doing nothing _there_ sounds better than doing nothing _here_." He turned and hurried first to the galley to finally set the mug down, then he strode back to crew quarters to don the spacer's jacket she'd given him. Underneath it in the back, he shoved one of his blaster pistols into the waistband of his pants, still not comfortable completely unarmed in public.

When he reemerged, Elle was waiting, her own jacket pulled on over her shoulders, but that wasn't what caught his attention and made him pause. Squatting down and bent forward, she was fixing one of her boots, her back to him, and the position caused both her jacket and shirt to ride up, exposing the panes of her lower back. Jarel's keen eyes, already raking over the exposed skin, were immediately drawn to a patch on the lower right hand side that was decidedly _not_ smooth. A jagged line of symbols ran diagonally out from her spine towards her ribs, almost like script. _Scars_. They were raised scars, clean and crisp and sharp, and he had seen enough wounds to recognize them as _knife marks_.

" _What the kriff_ are those?" he demanded before he realized it.

Immediately, her hand snapped to cover the spot as she stood up, not even asking what he was curious about. "Nothing," she said curtly. "Come on, I can't be late." Her hands very firmly tugged her shirt down. He knew he wouldn't get any more information out of her right now, but he was madly curious about it.

XXXXX

A short hour later, Jarel was really, truly regretting the decision to come along. Sitting alone on a bar stool, his eyes were locked on Elle drinking at the other end of the bar, completely forgetting he was supposed to be ignoring her. Completely forgetting _everything_ , actually. The loud music was no longer audible over the roar in his ears, and the crowd of people around them vanished.

Because a male Zabrak—tall and broad and pretty good looking, even by his estimation—had just walked up behind her, leaned his chin over her shoulder and whispered something in her ear, his tattooed face a mix of joy and mischief.

And Elle's face had immediately split into a wide smile that Jarel was hard pressed _not_ to call genuine before she deftly pivoted in place to face him. The Zabrak's hands came forward on either side of her to lean on the bar, caging her in with his body. She looked up at him, barely an inch between their bodies, and said something that must be light and flirty in return, one hand reaching out to toy with the shirt stretched tight across his muscular chest. Then the Zabrak leaned in and kissed her, and that was the point at which Jarel tore his eyes away, staring back down into his drink, and remembered to breathe.

Jealousy, hot and red, blossomed and burned in his belly; and fury, bright and white, rose in his chest. The room was suddenly much too hot, the drink in his belly had soured. He felt very much like killing something right then, or ripping someone apart with his bare hands, and he gripped the edge of the bar with both of them. The only thing holding him in place were Elle's earlier words, which replayed in his head: _It's a covert meeting, and we have to act certain ways so that we don't blow his cover._ He'd been too distracted earlier to really comprehend that. Suddenly they made sense, and he wanted desperately to believe them, that this in front of him was an act. But he was good at reading body language, he felt. _They must have done this before,_ and she had to be enjoying it at least a little bit. And he'd promised not to interfere.

Still, the burning jealousy remained: _he_ desperately wanted to be the one doing that to her. She pranced around in front of him all day, not showing a single sign of any interest, and then this stranger in a bar— _was it a stranger?_ —walked right up to her and she gladly accepted him. Had they done this before? _They must have_. Did she really dislike him so much? Was it because he was a clone? More and more, he was starting to feel that with Majel, he'd gotten a glimpse into a world he could never be a part of, but now would always crave.

He glanced up at Elle again, but now she was almost completely wrapped around the Zabrak, so he stared down into his drink again. At that point he jumped up from his seat. He couldn't stay still any longer; the tension in him demanded movement. Without a backwards glance, he nearly bolted out the door into the Castell evening.

XXXXX

"Such nice sunny weather we've been having," an exotic, silky voice with a hint of a purr sounded right in her ear as heat suddenly covered her back, and Elle felt her face curve into her prepared, sultry smile as she recognized Eolc's voice in her ear. Deftly, she spun in place, feeling his arms come in on either side of her, hands on the counter behind her, pinning her in. He took a step closer as she turned and she let her back rest against the counter so there was very little space between them.

 _Durn it all_ , as always, this was a well rehearsed act between them, but none the less he did _all_ the _right_ things and always managed to turn her on a little at the same time. She wouldn't lie to herself, she liked Eolc and she liked these meetings, rare as they were. Traveling alone through hyperspace, before Jarel, at least, sometimes these covert meetings were the only contact she got for weeks at a time and she made the most of them. "I was starting to think you weren't coming," she said, loudly enough for those nearby to hear if they wished, perfectly the woman waiting for a lover at the bar. She slid one hand up his chest to fiddle with the opening of his shirt.

His amber eyes flashed with pleasure at the contact. The fact that the Zabrak was very good looking didn't help. He looked much like a human male, except his skin was a decided darker shade of brown, he had a crown of horns around the top of his head instead of hair, and black clan tattoos across his face, though whether they were his true ones or altered to match his undercover story, she didn't need to know so she didn't. And the Zabrak was broad and fit. His shoulders were wide, his chest and arms muscular, and he was a good six inches taller than her. He'd been intimidating, the first time they met.

"How could I stay away from such a beauty?" he said, voice still that purr that did funny things to her insides, and he leaned forward and covered her mouth with his. And _durn it all_ , but he was a _fantastic_ kisser. She loved kissing, and he was _kriffing_ _good_ at it. Faking enjoyment was not something she had to do. If she didn't know Eolc so well—three years now—and know that he enjoyed working undercover and the acting that went along with it, she would have completely fallen for him a long time ago. Maybe she had, a little, she mused as she moaned gently into his kiss. The first time they had done this, the memory had lingered for a while. Before they'd actually had time to talk and come to understand each other.

But there was a slight desperation to him now, like he was _really_ trying to sell the performance.

He pulled back just slightly, so he could breathe, his lips still touching hers. "I've got that datarod," he murmured against her mouth.

Eyes still closed, she curved her mouth into a smile again. "Are things here really so bad?" she replied, barely a whisper, as she felt him lift one hand off the counter to wrap around her back, pressing their bodies together, and then run down to feel the curve of her behind—while slipping something into her back pants pocket in the process. "You do enjoy yourself," she added then, as he tilted his head—mindful of his horns—and proceeded to kiss his way down her neck.

"Who's the grumpy barve across the bar who looks like he wants to murder me?" he asked suddenly against her skin, and only Elle's training and practice kept her mask from slipping and her expression benign. He _had_ to be talking about Jarel.

"Probably my new partner," she said as he lifted his head again, and she slipped both arms up around his neck.

He pulled back just enough that she could fully see his face and barely quirked an eyebrow at her. "Since when do _you_ have a partner?"

"It's a fairly new development."

He leaned in and kissed her hard again, nipping at her lower lip as he pulled back. _He's doing it_ because _Jarel is watching_ , she noted it in the back of her mind, not sure what to do with that information and _quite_ sure her lip was going to be bruised.

When he stopped and she could speak again, she inhaled sharply and pressed. "If you need an extraction—"

"Right when things get interesting? No, never. I can handle it. Don't change the subject." He leaned forward and dropped his head to nip hard enough at her neck that Elle was sure he was _intending_ to leave a mark.

"You're _goading_ him, aren't you," she accused the Zabrak, shoving her lips in his ear. She felt his lips curl up in a grin.

"I swear I don't know what you're talking about," he replied.

They kept pretending, playing the act for a while longer, in case anyone was watching, and then they linked arms and Elle acted too drunk and unsteady on her feet as they went out the door, leaning on Eolc and laughing, and finally a few blocks away they went their separate ways and she pulled the jacket hood up over her head and wondered what she was going to say the next time she saw Jarel.

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* * *

 _AN: As always, love to hear what you think._


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